Unconventional Love
by Deikus-Is-Hellbound
Summary: Arthur doesn't believe in love, but when Alfred keeps popping back into his life at the most unorthodox times, he begins to wonder if fate is trying to tell him something.
1. Cutie At Starbucks

Love. It's such a silly thing, when one thought about it. It's just a feeling, like happiness or sadness, apathy or lust. Perhaps it was simply because of its serendipitous side-effects that people tend to make a big deal of it. Arthur definitely didn't comprehend the human obsession with love, and the fools who believed in love at first sight? Ridiculous. There was a point in his life where Arthur would have fervently argued that subject. He would have vehemently denied that any such emotion could change one's life unless one let it. He would've said that you couldn't just change by looking at a person, that their very existence would shape your sappy life around their silly little world, that a single glance at another person could ever set your heart afire in a heavy, unexplainable need to be in that person's life. Anyone who had half a brain could see that clearly it was impossible to change a person by the mere existence of some other human. It was impractical. He kept reminding himself that thses were _Americans_. In any case, he didn't know how blubbering around like an idiot with the same constant face on your mind could possibly be a _good _thing. No, he was much worldlier than that. _That _is what he _would've_ said. What he had, for the majority of his life, believed so strongly one could've considered it religion. But that was before fate decided to pay him a visit.

Yes. He had been wrong, severely wrong, not that he liked to admit it. He had been so wrong that very God could've smited him right where he'd been sitting when he'd had the revelation with a big fat 'I told you so'. He had never imagined it before, sitting calmly in his favorite Starbucks, sipping at a fresh-brewed caramel and vanilla late, that a human so blinding, positively jaw-dropping would strut in through his favorite coffee shop and make him nearly choke to death on his late, (which would've been a disappointing waste). But somehow, it had happened. Not the death part, of course.

His textbooks had begun to get rather dull that morning, so his attention had been mainly focused on his delicious, caffeinated vanilla caramel blend. It was delectable, really. Tea was good – but this, this was heaven on Earth. Americans had at least gotten one thing right. Their coffee. He figured that this was why they were mostly obese. Oh how he loved his vanilla late. He swore religiously to his vanilla caramel late with the fluffy, sugar – filled whipped cream floating above the delectable vanilla heaven. His study sessions always consisted of his notes with a steaming vanilla caramel blend perching at the top, left-hand corner of his desk. Oh yes, his coffee was his dearest best friend.

The bell above the door gave a slight little jingle as the door opened. He guessed the purpose was to celebrate Christmas or something. It was only a few weeks away now... He would have to get Peter something so the boy wasn't disappointed. The door had let in a terrible draft, and the daft prat who let it in was still hanging in the doorway, letting all the precious heat escape into the cold desert. Arthur sighed irritably, shivering in his thin shirt and vest. Being the man he was, he didn't bother looking up to glare at the boy holding open the door, he didn't bother laying eyes on him before he even picked up his half-drank late. Maybe the next few moments of his life wouldn't have been such a frantic train wreck. But he hadn't. He gave his book one last glance before he grabbed his late, standing up from his chair. He re-read the line he'd been skimming over blankly.

_In 553 B.C Cyrus II overthrew the Median king and…. _

Ah, whatever. He was getting a bit peckish. Sitting around doing nothing will do that to you, didn't you know?

So, completely oblivious, he walked to the cashier and mulled over the choices. On one hand they were all very enticing and then on the same note they all looked rather…unappetizing. What did one have to do not to have to eat something filled with sugar and caked with preservatives in America? A lot apparently. He'd scanned over the choices a few moments, shivering in his boots because that damn kid _still _had the door open, screaming for his friends to hurry their asses up and get inside. Two more had come in; Arthur could hear their obnoxious chattering. The boy was waiting on one more still. Bloke must be impervious to the riveting twenty degrees outside. Arthur decided that a cookie would suffice until he got home and made something better…or less sugary at any rate. Everyone knew his cooking wasn't the best.

The clerk gave him his cookie and Arthur turned, heading back to his table. He sat down, taking a bite of the chocolate chunk scone. He frowned at the taste. It was hard, depraved of moisture and too stiff to hardly chew. It was probably from the cold. He took a drink from his late, and _finally _looked up at the door, wondering who in the world would still be holding the door open like a blasted fool. He inhaled sharply, beholding the marvelous sight before him- momentarily forgetting his steamy late pouring into his throat.

And there it was.

The moment where Lady Fate full on bitch slapped him across the face. He would be the one fool who was choking to death as the one creature that could ever hope to get him believe in the foolish notion of love at first sight had waltzed into view.

Arthur's throat closed with the heavenly vice and cut off all his air- which often occurred when choking. He winded himself trying to get the blasted stuff out and his eyes watered slightly at the sting on the roof of his mouth and in the back of his throat. But, for some reason, he had been too caught up on the glorious creature holding that door wide open to worry about the possible death he could be facing at the moment. Oh that face. It was the perky face of an angel, smooth and beautifully perfect with every crease and curve. Those adorable glasses pushed up as far as they could go on the bridge of his nose, that heavily bundled body, tall and long and completely, beautifully, _wholly _sexy. Oh what was he thinking? He couldn't believe himself, looking down at his late (that was now cleared from his throat). What _was he saying?_ He couldn't believe that the words had ever crossed his mind. He'd never, not once in his life, found anyone who looked remotely attractive at a coffee shop (or anywhere really), but that boy there had done it. No…he wouldn't believe it. And then he looked back to the boy and there was no way he _could deny it_. Those hands, now ungloved, were long and pretty, but they were worn as if they were overused, and still retained their youthful softness. That smile on his face damn near made the sun look like a feeble light bulb flickering on the last bit of juice. Even from this distance, Arthur could make out the shockingly blue of his eyes. He was stunning. He was jaw-dropping alright. And if not for Arthur's practiced calm he'd have sworn his jaw had hit the floor by now.

That man there, that man, (Arthur knew his fondness of men wasn't just a phase by now. No, it was a full on attraction.) had captured his hesrt in his slim, pink fingers. He hadn't even done anything except hold the door open like a daft fool, completely oblivious to his perfection. If anything Arthur should be annoyed completely that he was shivering from the cold – everyone else certainly was. But he was stunned. Too stunned. So stunned, even, that he didn't notice the buzzing phone sitting in his pants pocket. To stunned to be completely furious like he was _all the time with everyone. _But how could you be angry at a face like that? It was infeasible. He couldn't possibly...no.

He'd nibbled at his distasteful cookie after that, wondering what in the world he was going to do about that sexy boy over there. Should he do anything? He couldn't let him just leave...could he? He shouldn't do a thing. He should just stay here and continue studying for the test after lunch. But...He didn't know if he could take watching the boy walk out of the coffee shop without contact of _some sort. _But he wasn't going to approach him. No, he didn't even know the bloke. His mind must've been somewhere else at the moment, because all of his ideas were turned to pot. So, being sensible, he hurriedly gathered his books, shrugged on his coat, gloves, scarf, and hat; and scurried over to the door, careful not to forget his deadly late. Arthur squeezed past the crowd at the front of the shop, wary of any contact whatsoever. He had no intention of dropping his arm-fulls of books. People divided slightly in the Brit's furious wake, but not nearly enough. He stumbled, and the force knocked him straight to the door that was letting in the bitter cold.

"Ouch." He muttered at the harsh elbow to his ribs. He just could not believe how brash these Americans were; it never ceased to amaze him. But that was far from his mind now, because as he drew himself right, he came face to face with his newfound angel. Arthur immediately felt himself blanch gazing into those pristine blue eyes of his. There he was, decked out in a black overcoat with the barest hint of a painfully patriotic American flag hoodie beneath. Something in Arthur's mind attempted a half-assed snarky comment, but the thought died before he could finish the first few syllables. Up close he could see a tiny little disobedient prick of hair, sticking waywardly away from the boy's head. Now _that _was adorable. How could he mention something snarky about that face?

Where had his sense gone...? He had no clue, nor any sense of mind to keep moving. The boy looked down at him and gave him that astonishingly bright smile. Arthur was beyond himself, and he was sure that there was something begging him to press forward out into the bitter cold, but there was nothing that seemed particularly inviting outside. It was twenty degrees and there was a snowy gale brewing outside, and...and...Well quite frankly this angel was in here, not out there. He tried to convince himself.

Then the brighter sense of his mind piped up. That was contact right? Eye contact...? It was enough for Arthur. Common sense had kicked in. And it was about time. Arthur needed to get moving before the moment became awkward. So, straightening his flimsy spine, he scurried out the door with only his hot, flushed face to keep him warm in the brutal cold.

Oh yes, love was a silly thing when one really stopped to think about it. But there isn't any explanation for something such as love-and the more you ponder and mull upon the subject, the more befuddled and misguided you become. It was a new concept to Arthur, at the time. To him there wasn't much that a human couldn't understand. Plus, at the moment he was still in the vice of denial's crippling grip. He'd thought he'd had it all under control, that it would be something that he would easily understand all in due time and that it was a feeling that would eventually fade away and he would deal with it like any other number of his problems. No, it couldn' be love. How foolish was that? But he was ever so wrong, as became a common theme with this American boy, he would come to find out.

4


	2. Homeward Bound

_Alright, so here's chapter two~ :3 I'm still trying to figure out and how it all works and stuff, so my things might get a bit confusing! Sorry! But As a note, if I do happen to get anything wrong, or you feel as if the Personalities are off or something, feel free to tell me – albeit nicely- and I will be happy to try and fix it, but until then here's chapter two~ _

"For the last time Francis, I said it was nothing!" The Brit exclaimed, getting agitated. The Frenchman had been pestering him ever since he'd arrived exactly ten minutes and fifty-two seconds late- a new record- from his lunch break. Even hours later, he still hadn't dropped the subject – much to the Briton's disdain.

"But you are never late," He said absently, staring out the window of the college's café. Arthur had just finished his history exam, but he could still feel the faint heat on his cheeks from the Starbucks. He brushed it off as being the chilly weather. Arthur Kirkland did not blush.

"I _told _you that I just got caught up at Starbucks, alright? There was a long line." A lie. Arthur was very used to telling them. Apparently he had been ogling the stranger for a lot longer than he'd realized because he had become late. He'd never tell Francis about the boy, lest he risk being accused of being a pedophile and a hypocrite. But the boy couldn't have been that young, could he? Arthur shook the thought from his mind. No. He told himself. The boy was a stranger, he'd seen him on a chance encounter, and there was no possible way he would ever bump into him again, so there was no reason to be thinking about those deep blue eyes or that cute nose or-

He rubbed his hand over his face, and immediately felt the hot blush that had crept up onto his cheeks. God damn him what was his problem? He'd never blushed like a silly school girl before. Arthur took a deep breath to calm himself. He was being stupid. Like he'd said, there was no way that he would ever see him again and-

"Arthur?" Francis asked, leaning forward. "What are you blushing for?" He asked, that fervid smirk plastered onto his lips. Arthur frowned and glared angrily at his books.

"I'm not you git!"

"Yes you are, don't be so defensive!" Francis chuckled. He loved to annoy the Brit, on any and every occasion. Ever since Francis had found out Arthur 'swung for the other team', the teasing had gotten much _much _worse. Arthur didn't really remember exactly how the Frenchman had found out. All he remembered was the face of a pretty man and about four mugs of scotch. Furthermore, it wasn't as if Arthur didn't irritate easily. "Who was it?" Arthur blinked, and looked at the blonde blankly.

"What do you mean?" Francis pursed his lips as if to say '_really, mon cher? As if you don't know.'_ Arthur scoffed. "No one. God forbid there be a line at the most popular coffee shop in America!" He shouted at the man, beyond patience with him. Really, why did he tolerate this man?

"Oh, so you met him at the coffee shop?" Arthur groaned, planting his face straight into the table. God save him. Sooner than later would be nice.

"I did not say that." He muttered into the table, misery consuming him. Was it three yet? He needed to go get Peter...

"You did not have to." Francis smirked, Arthur could feel it. "Really now, who's taken my precious Arthur's heart?"

"Dear God!" Arthur sat up, all but slamming his fist into the table. "No one alright?" He stood up, gathering his things. Francis watched him with a bemused expression glazing over his eyes.

"There's no need to get all pissy about it."

"Shut up wanker." Arthur muttered. The Frenchman smirked, and pushed a lock of 'perfect' golden hair behind his ear. He did not know why the Frenchman always followed him around and pestered him. He had never, not once shown the man a flicker of kindness, and yet he still persisted. He was annoying. Furthermore, Arthur had long ago gotten annoyed with all of his 'dates.' One night it would be a cute girl, the next a boy who looked a suggestive age. There was no end to the long slew of dates and one-night stands. He was the ultimate…what did they say… schmoozer? Well in any case, he was a player for both teams, as it seemed, and his morals were more than a bit skewed. Arthur did not enjoy his company, and he didn't like Peter around him either – he didn't want that plague to rub off on his sweet, impressionable little brother.

Arthur shrugged on his coat, scarf, hat, and scarf and hurried out the door, leaving the Frenchman alone in the café with a

"Bonsoir~" Following after him. Arthur promptly ignored the comment, hurtling himself out into the snow.

"Peter!" He called, motioning the young boy from the school yard. He was talking to some girl at the swing set. Why were they outside? It was too cold…shouldn't this be illegal? Whatever. Upon the second call of his name, said little brother turned, waving at Arthur. He held up a single finger, causing Arthur to scoff. Arthur had been slightly late today – Peter should have taken care of this before now. He sighed in defeat. He had never been late in his life. Today was just not his day. He waited patiently as his little brother spoke to the girl. He could see she was giggling, her laughing breaths billowing away from her too-red lips. He couldn't see what his brother was doing, his back was turned. The girl laughed one more time before Peter finally started to leave, casting her a wave. She waved back happily, kicking her legs forward. Peter's boots crunched beneath the snow as he scurried over to his elder brother.

"About time." Was the first thing that popped out of the younger blonde's mouth. Arthur immediately frowned. Oh no – today was not his day.

"Shove it." He muttered as he turned on his heel to start the long trek back to the apartment. Living in the city had its advantages, but the walking in twenty degree weather was not one that Arthur counted as an advantage. Peter jogged to catch up with his brother's quick pace.

"Hey! Wait for me!" He exclaimed, pulling his knit scarf closer around his neck. Arthur could see his ears from here, a bright, bright red from the cold.

"Where's your hat?" He asked in mild concern. It really was his fault that he didn't have it, but Arthur still worried. Peter crinkled his nose, staying unusually quiet. Arthur frowned. "Peter?" Arthur looked down at his brother, adjusting the bag on his shoulder. He looked a bit crestfallen. Arthur felt his heart jerk a little. He knew his brother had problems at school. A lot of the boys didn't like him, and pushed him around. He only hoped that this wasn't the case today.

"It's nothing. I just forgot it at home." Arthur frowned. He knew that wasn't the case – his brother was a terrible liar.

"Peter." Arthur sighed, feeling a small twinge of pity for his younger brother. He drew his younger brother to his side, his head reaching just up to Arthur's armpit. He felt Peter sigh.

"A boy took it from me at lunch. He said it looked like a little girl's hat and threw it in the dumpster." Arthur frowned.

"Bloody wanker." He muttered. Peter had had a hard transition from London to America – and the kids at school didn't exactly help things.

"It's fine really." Arthur could feel the falseness of his words as soon as they leaked out of his mouth. Poor Peter. Arthur only wished that he was there when this sort of thing happened. He wasn't afraid of smacking around a little kid – but he was pretty sure that you could get arrested for that here. He wasn't really sure. It didn't matter really. "They're just jealous." Peter muttered into his coat.

"Oh yeah?" Arthur mused, turning down the familiar corner on the street. Peter had deemed the lamppost the official 'half-way resting point to our awesome apartment.' The first time they had come here, they had scaled the city trying to find their pre-reserved room. Their directions had turned out to have quite a few fallacies and Peter had demanded that they stop right there at that corner because 'His feet hurt like hell.' Arthur had scolded him for using such language, though he knew that he was the one who he'd gotten it from. Arthur had always been told he should wash out his mouth with soap. Of course he never took the criticism literally, and hadn't done so to Peter either. It still didn't please him though.

"Yeah." Peter nodded to himself happily. "I'm the only one in our class that Isabelle will talk to." He beamed up at Arthur, seeming quite pleased with himself. Arthur smirked down at him, more concentrated on the walk home than the conversation he and his brother were currently discussing.

"Oh? Who's Isabelle?"

"Only the prettiest girl in the whole school!" Peter exclaimed. Arthur smiled down at his little brother, feeling the smallest bit of pride. Peter had himself a little girlfriend. Arthur smirked.

"Oh? So you have a crush on her or something?" Peter's smiling face fell into one of embarrassment and denial.

"N-N-No! I do not!" He insisted indignantly. "She's just really nice!" Arthur smiled, ruffling his little brother's hair. What kind of older brother would he be if he didn't harass him every now and then? "Not like you know the prettiest girl at your school!" Arthur kept his face level. No, Peter did not know he was gay. He wasn't ashamed of it per se… he just- he couldn't explain it. There was just a part of him that didn't want to explain to his little brother's prideful eyes that had always admired his elder, always respected him; that his hero was queer. It just didn't sit well with Arthur. Furthermore, he had no idea how Peter would react. If anything he didn't want to change Peter's view of sexuality. He was too young for that anyhow. Arthur smiled and chuckled.

"Ah no, no I don't." He hugged his younger sibling to his side, happy to almost be home. Today had been beyond trying – verging more on hectic. He missed sitting in the sunroom in London, sipping tea and reading a good book – even if it had always been raining. Things were never so slowly paced in America. But there was nothing quite like the relief of getting back to the apartment, the relief of realizing that he would get approximately sixteen or so hours of sublime relaxation. It made him feel quite comforted to be going home. He looked forward to it every day, and today was no different; until the younger blonde popped the dreaded question.

"What's for dinner?"

Arthur made sure to get Peter to leave his shoes by the door so that the snowy slush would not track through the house. No – he refused to clean that up. Then, he removed his younger's coat, and scarf; hanging them up on the coatrack. Peter then scurried over to the couch, sliding around on the hardwood in his socks before reaching the safety of the carpet. He flopped down onto the couch like a sack of flour, burying his face in the cushions with a loud sigh sounding much like:

"Dyyyyyaaaaaaaah!" Arthur shook his head.

"Really Peter, do try to refrain from breaking the couch. You could, in the very least, act a bit like a gentleman." The American's laid-back casualness had rubbed him the wrong way, but Peter had accepted it quickly – as most children would. Peter had picked up the nasty habits rapidly – much to Arthur's disdain. He really was a failure of a brother sometimes.

"Nah," He nearly cringed at the use of the word. Such a harsh blow to the English language. "The couch is perfectly fine, quit being such a nag." Arthur pursed his lips. He also did not like the back-talk. He'd get over it he hoped. Arthur removed his winter clothing, hanging it up accordingly. He shivered in the cold, cranking up the thermostat a couple degrees. Peter pushed off the cushion, still managing to take up the whole couch. Arthur already could have told you the exact words that were about to come out of the younger boy's mouth. He was going to say 'jeez Artie, I'm starving! Order some food or something!' like he was incapable of feeding himself. Arthur would sigh irritably, and tell him that he was not in fact starved, he was probably just peckish. But, Arthur hated redundant, repeated conversations, so instead of indulging in the pointless conversation he decided to mutter:

"Scoot over." To his younger brother in a quite irritable tone. Peter, being quite used to his brother's strange attitudes, crinkled his nose, positively unfazed.

"I don't wanna." He nearly whined, knowing that the use of the word 'wanna' coupled with his child-like whine would set the Brit's teeth on edge. And sure enough, he saw his elder's jaw clench, and his lips purse.

"Peter, I am not in the mood. Move over." Peter frowned, unfazed. He would not give up so easily – he was a growing kid after all, and he was freaking hungry.

"Well I was here first!" He insisted. "And I hereby claim this couch as my rightful property until you get food! And I don't want any of your homemade stuff! That stuff _reeks_!"

…

"My food does not reek you ungrateful brat!" Arthur choked, refraining from aiming a smack at the kid. Just what had gotten into him lately? Peter just stuck his tongue out at Arthur before stretching his little ten-year-old- legs across the entire couch as best as he could. Arthur swore he was becoming more childish by the day. He frowned in irritation. He could easily pick up the boy and physically remove him from the couch…but he had a point. It was nearing five thirty, dinner was due. Caving, he sighed. "Pineapple or anchovies?" A grin split on Peter's face as Arthur grabbed for the phone. He curled his legs in as he chirped out his preferred flavor of pineapple pizza. Anchovies were always just wrong to him. And they certainly shouldn't be going on pizza. Whatever crank thought of that must've had a couple of screws loose.

Arthur plopped down onto the couch, as he dialed the pizzeria's phone number. He'd had it long memorized, considering the sheer amount of times that he and Peter had eaten it once they moved here. He'd be damned if they didn't know him by name. Shouldn't he get a discount for being their MVC?


	3. Lady Luck?

Alright chapter 3~ I just figured out how to do the line thingy! So that's why my scenes are not separated!

lol

So anyhow, there is language in this chapter, and I thought i'd warn you since i can! Thanks guys! Please Review!

* * *

No. He had not seen this coming. Not at all. Well…okay…maybe just a little, but it still displeased him. After dinner, Arthur had shooed Peter off to bed so he could study. Peter had almost whined, but stifled a yawn, so he took Arthur's command and went off into his room. For a while the Brit had studied – something he always had done before he went to bed – especially upon entering college. He felt as if that's all he ever did anymore was study. He had stuck the leftover pizza in the fridge, which would probably be eaten by Peter in the morning, seeing as today was Friday and there was no school tomorrow. So Arthur's evening went pretty well, the boy from Starbucks had long since dropped from Arthur's mind- and henceforth the face of the Earth.

Arthur got ready for bed, brushing his teeth, changing, and the like; and crawled beneath his sheets for a long- deserved rest. This- this was what he'd been craving all day. Yes- the soft embrace of his cushiony bed was going to send him right off. As he slipped between the lucid moments of unconsciousness and the startlingly cold moments of his dark room, there was one thing on his mind: big, beautiful, blue eyes that glowed like the sky on a sunny afternoon. Arthur recalled them as clearly as he had seen them that afternoon, bright and happy, and full of life. They were positively animated. He rolled over, something he wasn't completely conscious of. And those fleshy pink lips curving into a huge, gleaming smile set Arthur's subconscious into a whirl. That adorable voice spilling out of his lips made Arthur gasp, and he was instantly snapped back into full alertness, his eyes wide open.

After the initial shock had worn off, his eyes dropped into a narrowed glare at the ceiling. Well damn. Was nothing sacred?

He could not go to sleep like this. Not so flustered and nearly damn _delusional. _What was it? Arthur couldn't figure it out. He'd seen models, pretty women, pretty men; he'd been well exposed to attractive smiles and faces, but none of them, not one, ever haunted him in his _sleep_. Honestly, he was being quite ridiculous! Not that he'd had lots of experience with them, but he was pretty sure that school girls had this problem, not full – ride- college scholarship students. No- he was not having this. Not at all. He threw himself back over onto his other arm, now facing the left wall. This nonsense was interrupting his much needed rest, and he would not take it any further.

He squeezed his eyes shut determinedly. He would go to sleep with pleasant thoughts.

Like that pretty shade of wheat-ish hair. Yes, it was delectable, and it looked so soft. Like you could run your fingers through it for hours without it ever getting tangled. Or that delectable tan skin-

Arthur sighed, rubbing a weary hand over his tired eyes. Was he seriously going to lose sleep over such a trivial matter? Apparently so.

And so the annoyance had begun. He laid there in bed for hours trying to nod off, but instead found himself thinking of a boy whose name he didn't even know – let alone his age. And, each time he caught himself thinking of him, he scolded himself mentally, because this was just plain ridiculous. It was a vicious cycle, all taking place in Arthur Kirkland's sleep deprived brain. It never ended, and he was lying in bed, clutching the sheets as he stared, wide-eyed at the alabaster ceiling above him. Oh yeah, he was living the life alright. A lovesick puppy's life.

The steady stream of stranger boy was finally interrupted by a small groan somewhere near his door. Arthur's mind halted completely, his eyes shifting over to the door. A small crack of light had intruded inside his room, an afterglow from the moon and the dim lights from the kitchen. The door slowly wedged itself open just largely enough that a small, ten - year- old body could slide through. His hair was disheveled, and Arthur could clearly see his set jaw from here.

He quietly pushed the door closed, removing the light. On any other occasion, he would have been positively annoyed that his little brother still wasn't sleeping in his own bed, but he was feeling rather forgiving tonight, shifting over to make room for his baby brother.

"What's wrong?" He asked his voice groggy from lying in bed for hours. Peter jumped; he could see it even in the dark.

"I thought you were asleep." He whispered.

"No, not tonight." He muttered. He wished he would've been asleep, but alas the beautiful stranger was keeping him awake. "Did you have a bad dream or something?" Arthur asked with a yawn as he pulled the comforter back.

"No!" Peter scoffed. "I was cold…" Arthur frowned. Yes, as if being cold was a good reason to come and potentially wake him up. He sighed, waiting as his baby brother crawled between the sheets. Arthur laid the comforter over him, as Peter snuggled close. He was quite cold. Arthur put an arm over him.

"Goodnight Peter." Arthur yawned. Peter merely mumbled some sort of affirmation, his head on Arthur's shoulder. Arthur closed his eyes, thankful for the distraction. He may frown upon a ten-year old still needing to sleep with someone, but he could hardly blame Peter after everything he'd put him through. And, well, he was glad that there was someone else he could focus on besides the beautiful stranger.

With his baby brother's soft breathing just beside him, Arthur felt himself relax, his eyes shifted closed. It was sort of melodic, and not long after his brother's breathing slowed, did he nod off himself.

* * *

_They were incredibly close to his face, incredibly close. He could feel them even though they were a few millimeters away still. Arthur Kirkland felt his breath catch, his heart-beat quickening in his ears. Fleshy pink lips, right in front of him. What was this? Were they teasing him? Honestly? _

_Just kiss them – you know you want to. _

_Arthur was confused as to where that was coming from, but then again, whatever it was was right. He did want to kiss them- quite badly actually. He saw them smile, and dip forward, which made him freeze. They moved, whispering something Arthur could quite catch, making him strain to hear more. But, before anything came, they crashed down onto his own lips, making him gasp. He felt it; the tongue- by the queen was he enjoying this? Yes. Yes he was. _

_And the kiss turned long, instead of a quick peck on the lips, making Arthur's lungs ache for air. But he couldn't pull away now; if he did he knew they would disappear. He would never get to see the face of whoever was kissing him. Slowly he opened his eyes, shifting his eyes ever so slightly to see who it was that was kissing-_

Arthur's eyes snapped open. He felt it on his face: that damned blush again. Oh god. What kind of dream was that? He'd never had one like that before. Shit. Peter was sleeping with him too. Was he making any strange noises? He hoped not. He glanced over to the side of him, only to find that the right side of the bed was empty entirely. Arthur sighed in relief. No Peter…he was safe. He sat up, rubbing his hot face. He sighed. It didn't take a genius to figure out who it was in that dream, but Arthur was reluctant to admit it. Even in unconsciousness. Was it to be that way from now on?

Arthur groaned. He prayed not.

He forced himself from the bed, wishing that he could drag the comforter through the house with him, but he'd constantly gotten onto Peter for doing the same because he was so small that it dragged the floor…and Arthur usually tripped over it. So he did the only fair thing and left it there, stumbling out of his bedroom. Peter was sitting at the table, a mug in his hand. Despite the fact that they were inside, peter had a hat on, and his red-cold nose was poked down into the mug. Arthur smiled to himself. That was kind of cute.

"Morning." Peter mumbled.

"Good morning." Arthur muttered back. Neither of them were morning people- and so they had a mutual disregard for casual chat until after nine thirty. It was currently eight thirty- still far too early. Arthur sniffed, pouring himself a mug of tea that Peter had left in the pot. "Thanks." He muttered, plopping down into the chair across from peter. Peter nodded, taking a sip of the steaming tea. Arthur did the same, feeling the warm liquid slip down his throat and chest and into his stomach. Earl Grey…Or maybe it was Lady Grey. It didn't really matter.

His stomach was empty. He needed food. But, he didn't feel like cooking, nor did he feel like listening to the slew of complaints from his younger brother about how his food was an atrocious disgrace to cuisine and how Francis made food that was ten times favorable to his own. It was far too early for that. So, after taking a large gulp from his tea, he asked Peter:

"Want to go out for breakfast?" Peter looked up at him, his eyes wide.

"You mean it?" That woke him up. Arthur gave him a small, sleepy smile.

"Yeah, we can go wherever you want." Peter's eyes damn near looked like they were sparkling. Breakfast was always his favorite meal of the day. He had a strange love for pancakes.

"Yes!" He pumped a fist into the air, nearly making his hat fall off. It was the one that was still a bit too big for him. It had originally been Arthur's when he was a couple years older than Peter, but he'd given it to him when it had become uncomfortably tight. Peter had his own hat, but apparently it was lying in a grimy dumpster somewhere.

"And I'll get you a new hat while we're out." He hadn't done a lot of shopping since he'd moved to America. He may have gotten a full ride, but the life of a college student wasn't a cheap one, and so he'd saved as much as possible. Peter smiled up at him.

"Awesome!" Peter slipped off the chair and hurried off to his room.

"We'll leave as soon as I finish my tea." Arthur called after him.

"'Kay!" Peter called back, probably throwing on his clothes. Arthur smiled at his brother's over excitement. They rarely ate out, and always stayed in the house. Arthur sighed in contentment. This morning wasn't so bad – besides the cold.

* * *

It was cold outside, even colder than yesterday. Fresh snow was falling from the sky, making the pile up near to the ankle. Arthur was glad for his boots because if his pants had gotten wet it would've been most unpleasant. Peter was walking beside him, Arthur's old hat pulled down as far as it would go – which covered his eyes. He rolled up the front half, just so he could see. His knit blue scarf covered up to his nose, as he kept burrowing beneath it. Arthur had shoved his hands deep into his pockets. They had to walk to the place Peter had picked. It was some sort of local faire, Chelle's Diner or something. Apparently he had been told it was really good food there or something. Arthur didn't really care, as long as he got some damn food in his stomach. The walk down to the diner was carried out in complete silence, but as soon as the ugly blue of the diner came into view, Peter let out a fast shout, and ran to the door.

"Hey! Peter! Wait!" Arthur called after his brother, who had already reached the door. Arthur ran after him, hurtling inside after the boy. He was hit with a blast of heat, warmer than their apartment had ever been. Arthur felt as if his skin was melting. He shivered. The diner was quaint, and was set up like the ones in old American movies. There was a bar, where he assumed you took your seat, and a window where the kitchen opened up. A girl was pouring some old man coffee behind the bar, but beyond that there weren't any more customers. The walls were decorated with items one would've found in the fifties, and the wall paper was peeling a bit toward the ceiling. Perhaps this diner had been around since the fifties…

Arthur followed Peter over to the bar, and helped him up into a chair.

"This is great, huh?" Peter exclaimed, kicking his feet back and forth excitedly. Arthur nodded, looking around.

"Yeah, I guess so." He couldn't really say it was great until he tasted the food, not that he could say much.

"Hello boys." The girl came over, a huge smile on her face. Arthur couldn't help but notice the ridiculous size of her chest now that he actually looked at her, and briefly he wondered if those were real. "What can I get for you?" He heard a slight accent in her voice as well. She was an immigrant too then.

"I was hot chocolate!" Peter immediately blurted. The girl smiled and wrote it down.

"What about you?" She looked to Arthur with a bright smile.

"You have any coffee?" He asked, even though he already knew that they did. She smiled and nodded chipper-ly. He forced a smile; it was still too early for him.

"We sure do! I'll get those right up." She moved back to the window, standing up on the tips of her toes to reach her head through the window.

"Alfred~" He called. Arthur blinked at the happy, awake-ness in her voice. How was that possible? He glanced to his watch. Only nine fifteen and she's prancing around like its twelve in the afternoon. Really its-

"Yeah?" Arthur froze. Oh good god. Strike him now. Instant death preferably. Please.

"We need a hot chocolate-" She turned back to Peter. Arthur was too busy to notice. He worked here at the diner. Alfred was his name. Alfred. "Do you want whipped cream on it?" Arthur was sure that Peter nodded enthusiastically, but with his eyes trained on a particular set of baby blues, he wasn't sure. What was his luck? He'd never been this lucky in his life. Wait. Was this lucky? He didn't particularly want to see this boy again, did he? No, of course not. He'd been over this. He was a stranger. Someone he happened to glance at at Starbucks. He was _not _dateable. Or approachable. Arthur inwardly sighed in defeat. No he was probably not approachable with those looks of his. There was no godly way that boy was single. No way. He probably had a pretty blonde girl doting on his every word.

Definitely not approachable.

But that didn't stop Arthur's raging blush. What was this? Hormones? He didn't know.

"Alright Kat, I'll go get it." He smiled at Peter and waved. Arthur couldn't look away. Not at all. It was horrendously embarrassing – staring at a cook in a diner. A very, very attractive cook, nonetheless. Alfred disappeared back into the kitchen, forcing Arthur to look away. He pressed his hands to his hot face, trying to rub the blush away.

Fuck his life. Just all of it. A diner. Of all places.

Peter was humming some sort of tune next to him, rocking back and forth in the chair. Arthur looked up when a mug was thunked down in front of him. Kat was standing there filling it to the brim with black coffee.

"Need some cream?" She asked that same bright smile on her lips. Arthur nodded, it was the best he could do. No. There was no way this was happening. And Peter was with him. Dear god. Could this get any worse? Yes. Francis could be here. He let out a huge breath. When had he stopped breathing? He sighed, as Kat came back over with a couple tubs of cream for him. He smiled at her as she set them down, choking out a thank you. Hurriedly he peeled back the lid and dumped the whole creamer in there, moving toward the next one. He stirred it into his coffee absently, not wanting to look up from the table. There was no doubt that his cheeks were a bright red.

"Artie?" He cringed at the nickname. It was one he'd never been able to stand. Artie. Uhg. His name was Arthur.

"Yes?" He didn't look down at his little brother, because of his flaming hot face.

"Are you alright? You look sort of red." Arthur stopped and turned to smile nervously at his brother.

"Oh, I'm fine. It's just the cold." Peter shrugged and looked up to the top half of the ceiling. Up there was the menu, clear for all to read.

"What are you going to get?"!" Peter asked excitedly. Arthur frowned. He'd never realized how much his little brother liked food…and hates his own. Arthur gave the menu a once over. Honestly it was all sugary. He wasn't in the mood for sugar. "I'm going to get chocolate chip blueberry pancakes!" Peter exclaimed. Chocolate chips and blueberries? That's a lot in one pancake. Whatever, he wasn't the one eating it.

"I'll probably just get bacon and eggs." He murmured, trying ever so desperately to keep his eyes away from the small window. Peter scoffed.

"Gosh Arthur, you're so booooooooooooooooring!" Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Whatever."

"Hey Kat!" Arthur felt like he was going to shrivel up and die. That angel was back in the window. He had a bright smile plastered on his face that Arthur already felt he knew like the back of his hand.

"Eh?"

"Here's that hot chocolate."

"Oh!" He stuck the mug on top of the ledge as Kat skipped over to the edge. "Thanks Alfred." He smiled at her as she grabbed the hot chocolate. Alfred pushed his bangs back from his face, and then glanced forward – straight at Arthur. He literally felt the color drain from his face. Alfred gave him a look, tilting his head slightly to the side in confusion. Oh god. Did he remember him? No! That's ridiculous! He'd only seen him for maybe a grand total of five seconds. That made his heart drop slightly. He wouldn't remember Arthur- but he'd be damned if he didn't remember Alfred. Alfred's confusion faded, and he shot Arthur a smile. Arthur wanted to die and go to heaven. Right there. Someone- strike him dead. No- he'd save you the trouble – just take him now. He was pretty sure that his insides were melting right now. He had smiled at Arthur – and somehow that made him feel as if he could die happy right this second.

He managed a feeble twirk of the lips that could maybe sort of pass as the beginnings of a grin. He could've grinned at that second, but…just no.

Kat set the mug down in front of Peter, who let out a huge gasp. Arthur looked down at his little brother, only to flinch back at the leaning tower of whipped cream. Good god. The pile of whipped cream was as tall as the mug!

"Woooooooooooah." Peter gaped. Arthur was gaping too. Eating like that was going to give his baby brother heart disease.

"You don't-" Peter leaned forward and took a huge bite from the whipped cream tower, taking half of it in one go. Arthur blinked, a bit stunned- but then then again… it was Peter. It wasn't the fact that he'd done it that baffled Arthur, it was the fact that he'd done it in front of him, Arthur, who he'd pinned as a health nut. Arthur sighed. He'd just let the kid enjoy himself today.

"Don't what?" Peter said, with the whipped cream still in his mouth. Arthur cringed at his ghastly table manners.

"Don't speak with your mouth full." He chided, taking the first sip from his coffee.

"Yeah yeah." Arthur shot his little brother a glare, before he noticed the puff of white cream just on top of his little brother's eyebrow. He pursed his lips. Goodness. How did he get it up there? Arthur reached over and swiped his thumb over the spot, getting all the whipped cream off Peter's brow.

"Hey!" Peter jerked away. "What are you doing?"

"You got some on your face." Arthur replied as he wiped his thumb on his jeans.

"A little warning next time." Peter grumbled, sticking his tongue into the whipped cream. Arthur couldn't help but notice how much that made his brother look like a dog lapping up water. He rubbed his temple. Where had he gone wrong?

"Have you all decided?" The girl was back, with a pad in her hands.

"I want chocolate chip blueberry pancakes!" Peter shouted excitedly.

"Keep it down." Arthur murmured absently. Peter frowned at him, and picked up his mug to take the first actual drink. The girl smiled. She did that a lot.

"How many?" Arthur cut in before Peter could shout some ridiculous number.

"Two will be fine."

"What? That's not enough!" Peter whined.

"It'll be plenty. Drink your hot chocolate."

"What would you like?" Arthur looked up to the menu, picking out the number.

"Uhm, could I get a number five?"

"Most certainly!"

* * *

Well I would've done the rest of the scene, but I think that seven pages worth of chapter is a good and long chapter! I didn't realize how long this one had become! And thank you so much xXYoraXx for the review! My first review 3 That makes me soooooo happy! Thank you so much! Fooled you! He'd not the delivery boy, but he's still in the food industry! I had ended chapter two there because I'd run out of ideas lol. But seriously, thank you for the review! They are love to me!

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	4. Go Away

Sorry for the long update guys! And the shortness! I have been super busy altely and haven't had time to sit down and actually write so its been kind of hectic, but that's not really any excuse! I also was a bit brain dead for a little while there, but I am back on track now, and ill try to get a new chapter out soon – a good length'd one! Sorry! But, on the other hand all your guy's subs have made me want to cry in happiness! Thanks so much for the subscriptions! It means a lot to me that people actually read this drabble!

* * *

Arthur was dying. It wasn't because of the riveting cold outside. No. He was perfectly warm inside the boiling hot diner. On the flip side, he wasn't dying from the overwhelming heat either. That, coincidentally, did not bother him either. No, what was killing him was a particular blonde-haired-blue-eyed- angel flipping pancakes in the window across from him. Oh yes, the stereotypical look for an angel: Blonde haired and blue eyed. But, Alfred pulled it off quite nicely, with a strange boyish flair. Yes, precisely. Arthur had to stop his staring. He really needed a boyfriend. Maybe he was sexually dissatisfied and that's why he was completely obsessed with such a young piece of ass. Yes. That had to be it. He hadn't had any in such a long time. But since it was not only himself anymore; it wasn't as if he could start bringing home people. Peter would be scarred for life. Possibly. Maybe. (But that was extremely low wasn't it? A feeble excuse.)

Not that he brought home just random strangers. Arthur was not a slut mind you. He didn't do it with just anybody. He was a man of morals. And he firmly believed that STD's were not something one should be particularly proud of. Even with that in mind, Arthur would be damned if his stupefied self didn't ask Alfred to accompany him to his house any given second of the day. His brain told him that was stupid and ridiculous, but something else- it would be wrong to say his heart- wanted to _oh so _badly. He would take that boy home any day. Any day at all. But he just couldn't waltz up to him- Lord knows if he was even legal yet.

So, with that dilemma in mind, breakfast out that morning had become quite the ordeal for Arthur. He was stuck between staring at the angel, and sipping his coffee. The waitress had started avoiding him after she saw the irritated look on his face. Peter had always said that he could be quite intimidating when he was angry. Still, no one had come in since they'd arrived, and the diner was quiet slack the soft music playing in the background. Peter had nearly downed his hot cocoa, and Arthur knew he'd order another one.

Arthur averted his eyes as _Alfred _moved to look up. Damn. He'd almost been caught. He stared down at his coffee, and felt the steam roll off the rim of the mug and onto his nose. What was his problem…? Whatever it was, he needed to fix it. Soon.

"Here you guys are."

...

A plate of scrambled eggs and bacon with a biscuit on the side was set in front of him, and a plate of two pancakes with chocolate chips and blueberries was set down in front of Peter. Arthur saw the hand carrying them. It was most definitely not feminine, as if the voice had been. He dared not look up, instead fixated on the hand. It was tan, like his face, and his fingers were long and calloused. They were the hands of a worker. Perhaps a sports player. Perhaps both. Arthur could've stared for hours, but they withdrew. He followed them up to the red apron that was most certainly a uniform. Arthur's lungs were making his head pound. Had he not taken a breath yet? Why exactly?

He glanced up further, seeing the innocent blue eyes blinking at him.

"Something wrong?" Arthur was at a loss for words. Was something wrong? Why yes, yes there was something wrong. But Arthur was not about to mention it to him.

"N-No. Fine. Quite fine." Alfred flashed him a smile, which only made Arthur flush more. (much to his annoyance) "Thank you." He uttered- barely. Alfred (oh he liked the way that sounded) smiled at him cheekily. Arthur's heart picked up excitedly, fluttering about in his chest like some ridiculous little boy.

"No problem dude!" As Alfred withdrew Arthur took a deep breath. That had been…stressful.

"OHM MAH GOUGH!" Arthur heard Peter exclaim. He wasn't quite sure exactly what he'd said, but he figured it ranged somewhere around 'Oh my God.' Arthur shot Peter an incredulous glance – only to find an absolute horror awaiting him. Peter's mouth was stuffed full of the sugary, syrup-y, buttery pancakes and he was exclaiming unfathomable compliments with his cheeks puffed out with food. Arthur nearly gasped.

"P-P-Peter!" He exclaimed. Where had his table manners gone? Arthur had most certainly taught him better! He shook his head, chewing the large mouthful of pancake. He swallowed heavily, having to gulp to force it down. "You're going to choke yourself-"

"Duuuuuuuuude!" He exclaimed over Arthur – making the elder brother flinch. Not only had he used American slang, but he had also cut him off! What nerve! "Hey! Uh – Alfred!" Peter said, making Arthur freeze. Oh God please don't –

"Whut?" A wheat-haired blonde peeked over the counter, clutching a coffee close to his chest as if no one was supposed to see it. Arthur guessed that it was the customer's coffee. It didnt really matter thought, because he was headed over here now, making Arthur (for the first time in his life) want to punch his younger brother.

"You make….AWESOME pancakes!" Peter shouted. Arthur flinched.

"Quiet down." He chastised, regaining control over himself. How stupid of him. No. He could not just simply break down like this – not in public and certainly not when his little brother was acting so horrendously.

"Oh? You think so?" Alfred skittered over, that chipper smile plastered on his face. Really, it did make Arthur want to die. He was beginning to wonder if God was truly merciful at all, putting the perfect specimen of man in front of him like this. He was unapproachable – except to Peter, apparently.

"Totally!" Peter exclaimed, slapping his hand on the counter. "These are the most godly pancakes I have ever put in my mouth! You make godly pancakes! God of Pancakes! I worship at your feet!" Arthur stiffly picked up his fork, decidedly extracting himself from the conversation transpiring a few centimeters away. He stared down at his food – which looked rather appetizing at the moment. Alfred's bubbly laugh ran through Arthur's ears like sugar. It was just so sweet sounding. Was there anything terrible about this man?

"Wow! Thanks bro!" He laughed, leaning against the counter.

"Alfred?" It was the waitress from before. Arthur had already forgotten her name. Ka- something. Arthur ignored it. He scooped up the first bit of eggs on his fork. He should probably get busy eating before they got cold. Not that they could with the temperature in here. Room temperature was enough to boil someone.

He brought the fork to his mouth slowly. He really wanted breakfast, but part of him did not want to know how good Alfred's food was. How much better than his was it? Peter had never had a conniption over his food.

"Where did you get that coffee? Is it from the pot we use for the customers? You know boss doesn't like it when we drink the coffee-" Alfred cut her off.

"Oh he won't miss one cup!" He brushed it off. Arthur listened silently to their conversation as he finally bit down onto the eggs.

Heaven exploded into his mouth. Wow.

_Wow. _

Arthur'd had no idea eggs had the capability to taste this good. What did he put in them? He swallowed the tiny bite of scrambled egg. Woah. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to taste another bite. It reminded him of how terrible his cooking was – it wasn't that bad was it?

"So! How do you make such Godly pancakes!" Peter leaned over the counter, chewing another bite of the fluffy looking jacks. Alfred turned back to him with a rather blank look on his face.

"Uh…I dunno?" He shrugged. Peter threw up his arms.

"With the hands of God!" Arthur had had no idea his little brother was so religious. Only when it came to food…? Was that a religion? Worship of food? Arthur didn't know. Either way, it earned another laugh from Alfred, who smirked at the younger boy. Arthur went back to eating, trying his best to ignore the angel beside him. The initial shock of his second appearance had started to wear, he was fairly certain that he could get through breakfast in one piece as long as they did not come back here again. He would be fine. Yeah. Just fine. "You should teach my brother how to cook! He's terrible!" Peter said with a face. "His pancakes are black and purple! They look like a giant bruise!" Arthur blanched.

"T-t-they do not!" He raged, getting flustered. How could he say that? They do not look like a giant bruise! They certainly weren't the honey-brown of Alfred's but they weren't…that bad… Alfred seemed to just be utterly amused by the entire thing, seeing as his laughter was so hysterical that he was clutching his sides. Arthur felt the color rush back into his face, causing him a slight headache.

"They do too!" Peter insisted, leaning over to Arthur's face. "And they taste like-" Arthur piped up before he could finish that blow to his pride. Alfred was laughing, utterly amused.

"You should be lucky I try to feed you at all! I could just buy you that microwavable kind!" He raved back, clutching his fork in irritation. Peter scoffed.

"That would be a delicacy compared to that _stuff _you call food!" Arthur frowned. He could hear Alfred burst into yet another fit of laughter.

"You used to eat it all the time when you were little! You never complained!" Arthur exclaimed, giving his little brother a look that usually silenced him. Apparently not today, because he opened up that smart little mouth of his once more.

"You had me brainwashed! Uh – tongue-washed!" Arthur blinked. He could feel the spark of irritation and anger flare in him. How dare Peter complain about his cooking?

"What the bloody hell is tongue washed?"

"Well…it's like brainwash – except on your tongue!" Peter offered a confused look on his face. Arthur scoffed, turning away from the boy.

"Just eat your damn 'Godly' pancakes and shut up." He muttered. Alfred was wheezing from all his laughter, which only made matters worse. No – they would not eat here again.

"Kay~" Peter exclaimed with a chipper smile. "But seriously, you should cater or something." Peter muttered in Alfred's direction.

"Deliver." Arthur corrected, taking another bite of those eggs in humiliation. How truly evil lady luck was to him.

* * *

And thats the end of chapter four! Happy Birthday Alfred!


	5. Arthur's Epiphany

Hello readers! Here's the newest update! I don't know how long it will be until the next update. We have some family issues going on right now, and so I will be quite busy over the next week or so.^^ sorry friends! I will try to update asap!

Nothing too bad in this chapter I don't think. Enjoy! Reviews are love!

* * *

"What's got you all upset?" Peter asked innocently. Arthur frowned even more deeply-if that was possible.

"Shut up." He muttered, shoving his nose deeper into his scarf. He didn't mean to be so spiteful to Peter, but he was irritated. That much was true, but the reasons why were a bit of a mystery to him. Yes he had been embarrassed at the diner. But he didn't really know Alfred, and under those circumstances he would not have regularly been embarrassed at such a petty blow(it wasn't the first time someone had made a foul comment about his cooking skills- if you could call them skills.). So why was he irritated? He didn't know. He usually knew these things. That's what bothered him. Perhaps it was the innocent ignorance of his situation that had his feathers ruffled? Even with that he couldn't tell why exactly he was annoyed which insued to irritate him more.

Today was just a day of irritation and it was only around ten thirty. Arthur wanted to just go home and make a cup of tea, maybe watch some TV...sleep. Sleep sounded good. Sleep actually sounded phenomenal. Usually he did not want to sleep unless it was around the spropriate time, but today he was feeling particularly exhausted. He just wanted to curl up beneath his heavy comforter and doze off. He wanted to forget the horrific morning he'd just had, and that dream. He'd nearly forgotten all about it...but then if he tried to go to sleep he might have it again. He wasn't quite sure if that was truly a bad thing. Those lips, wonderful...slightly chapped and rough, but still, the skill made up for that- he remembered. No-what? Why could he remember that so clearly? It hadn't actually happened, so why were his lips tingling so violently?

"Hey Arthur?" Peter's voice piped up. Arthur glanced down at his little brother, who was shivering slightly in the cold. He twitched. He was torn between his strange maternal instinct to protect his little brother, and the urge to tell him to snuff it and deal with the cold. Arthur, being his good older brother self, caved. "H-h-how f-far is th-the hat store?" Arthur had the strange urge to smile, even though he was irritated. Peter was so hopeless sometimes.

"C'm 'ere." Peter shuffled closer, his nose the color of a ripe peach from the cold. Arthur pulled his hand from his pocket, hugging Peter close. We're almost there.

The snow seemed to never stop falling. Arthur swore that it should be up to his face by now-thank god that it wasn't though. It was barely past his shin. Peter must be freezing though. Arthur wasn't a tall guy, but he was certainly taller than his ten year old brother. Arthur was beginning to forget what the streets looked like without the white blanket.

They turned down the street to their destination: the hat shop. Arthur pulled the door open, letting Peter scurry in first. Arthur quickly followed intent on standing just out of the doorway until Peter picked something. To be truthful, his mind wasn't really with him at the moment; it was drifting back to the dream he'd had, and slowly flitted to the stressful encounter at the diner. Despite the intenseness of it all, he wasn't exactly complaining that he'd gotten to see the angel again. And as a bonus he got to find out the guy's name. Alfred. It was very boyish, and, made him seem just the slightest more childish than he already seemed. It was cute – it fit his hyper personality. The name itself was odd. Arthur never would name his child Alfred, not on his life, but… then again he liked it on his angel's face.

And those eyes. They were that impossible blue, the blue you only expect to see on the photo-shopped covers of magazines; a blue that couldn't be possible in nature – but it had been. Arthur was getting all jelly-fied thinking about it. On top of that he had flashed him that smile. It was still taking his breath away, even after leaving the diner and walking in the blistering winds.

Oh and let's not forget the laugh. The sweet, syrup-y laugh that warmed Arthur to his bones. He couldn't explain why, or how for that matter, but something about that laugh made him very nearly dizzy. It was high pitched(sort of) and if it came from anyone else it would've made his skin crawl- but

"HEY! ARTIE!" He blinked.

"What?" He hurriedly glanced over at the clerk, who was looking at Peter a bit oddly.

"Jeezzus Artie, I've been screaming at you for ten minutes."

"No you have not." He snapped. They hadn't even been here for ten minutes… and what kind of word was 'jeezzus?' Peter shrugged holding up an astonishingly sapphire aviator hat with pale blue fur on the inside. He yanked it on over his head with that goofy grin on his face.

"What do you think? Can we get this one?" Arthur raised his brow.

"You want that ridiculous thing?" Peter frowned.

"What? I like it." Arthur tilted his head. He and Peter looked a lot alike. He shared his brother's height troubles, his brother's rather large eyebrows, and he shared that baby face too. Arthur knew that he would never look good in a hat like that (he would never want a hat like that in the first place), but Peter, for some inexplicable reason, looked rather good in it. Peter pulled the flaps down over his ears, shuffling it over his head. "And it's so warm~" Arthur shrugged.

"If you want it you can have it." He didn't know why someone would want a hat like that- no wonder he got picked on at school. And to think that _he _was the fairy. Peter grinned up at him and took off toward the clerk. Arthur shrugged. He better not come home with a black eye. He sweat-dropped. If Peter came home with a black eye it certainly wouldn't be that stupid looking hat's doing, that's for sure. He followed Peter to the cashier and laid the money down on the table. "There." He said officially. "Now you have a hat." Peter grinned.

"Thanks Artie!" He yanked the tag off, dropping it onto the floor before running back toward the door.

"Hey!" Arthur shouted, his frown worsening. He picked up the tag, giving his condolences for his younger sibling to the cashier, before hurrying after him. Well, at least the stupid thing would keep his ears warm. "Peter! Get back here!" Peter stopped, and turned on his heel. He was already to the next corner, swinging around on a lamppost.

"Hurry up slow-poke!" He stuck out his tongue. "You walk at an old granny pace!" He yelled. Arthur scoffed. He could not deal with this foolishness. Just who was Peter hanging out with these days?

That apartment wasn't particularly warm – again. Arthur would have to call Tom- the owner of the apartment buildings. Peter had snuggled up on the couch with a movie and a blanket as soon as he could kick his boots off. Arthur had picked them up off the floor, giving Peter a piece of his mind for tracking grey slush through the apartment, and commenced to cleaning up the mess- as the usual housekeeping routine continued. Arthur never thought he would be a house keeper – nor should he be.

After that and a nice cup of tea Arthur cracked open his books. Another study session was in order. He had to get a good grade this semester – not that he was worried of course. No he'd attended every single session, turned in every assignment and gotten high marks on all of them. No he wasn't worried…just preparing. Yeah. Better safe than sorry as he liked to say.

So his with steaming cup of tea at hand (because he did not want to run all the way to Starbucks to get a late) and his history, math, English, and business books all stacked neatly on the right side of the table, he began his studies.

Arthur had always been the studious type, even when he was younger. He studied needlessly, much to his parents disdain. He was unusual in that sense; because he would much rather peer over a book than go out and buy ice-cream with a group of people he barely could call friends. For as long as he could remember Arthur had been single. Not single as in the dating standard of single or taken, but single in a more generalized way. He was single. Period. He didn't have friends whose birthday's to remember, family members he really cared about all that much (except for Peter, and sometimes even that was questionable), or boyfriends that he was actually all that serious about. He was just alone all the time. There was no packaged deal. He preferred it that way. Alone. Forever. No one to hurt to or to depend on. No one to mess up and disappoint you. Everything went much more smoothly that way, and if something went wrong he had no one to blame but himself. It was a near perfect existence.

Near perfect though. Not perfect. Arthur had never been one to think he had reached perfect existence. He didn't believe anyone could. So he'd never dwelled on it before. But as he poured over his books, reading the same old damn lines over and over, the thought finally occurred to him. Why wasn't his existence perfect? What was wrong with the way he lived? In his eyes perfect was happy…so that must mean he wasn't happy. Wasn't he? What did he have to be happy about? Well he was in college. That was something. He guessed anyway. That was something to be happy about right? He was certainly grateful for it, but happy? He wasn't so sure. So college was a maybe? What else was there? He had an apartment right? So an apartment was a plus. He was definitely happy about that. But happy about something and actually happy were two different things. Weren't they? That seemed logical.

He couldn't quite pinpoint it. That elusive little piece that was keeping him from perfection. It was missing. What was it though? He always felt it, like a ghost following his every step, an alter ego floating about him every moment of the day. He'd a;ways been councious of it – even as a child.

His brain clicked.

He took the cup of tea in his hands, taking a scalding sip that burned all the way down his esophagus. He understood now.

Peter was in the other room, with the TV at an unbearable volume. He was probably cuddling his blanket like he did that stuffed bear he used to carry around everywhere. But even with him maybe one hundred paces away, Arthur was still by himself. He was still single. Peter and Arthur were together, but separate. They simply co-existed because they happened to be born to the same mother. If they weren't born to her, they would never have had a thing to do with each other. He wasn't being rude, detached, or spiteful – it was just the truth. Which meant that even with Peter for a younger brother and roommate, Arthur was still single. He was still alone. There was still no package deal.

Arthur had been alone his whole life. He was pushed into a vice of solitude. His safe house was suffocating him.

Yes, Arthur Kirkland had figured it out now, on a snowy winter afternoon. He had finally understood the cause of his imperfection. He smiled to himself, looking out at the blizzard forming outside. He smiled at the simple truth that he figured he'd known all along, the simple little truth he'd been denying himself his whole life. He smiled despite the roiling lurch in his stomach spilling out the truth in one huge heave:

Arthur Kirkland was lonely.

* * *

And that's the end of chapter five! Yay filler! I would say fluff but it isn't all that fluffy is it? I hope it was longer this time! Leave a review and tell me x3

4


	6. Short Tempers with Hot Cocoa

Hello again~ This is chapter siiiiiiixxxx. Yay! I suddenly had the overwhelming urge to write today, and for some reason this chapter turned out to be really long! So yeah.

Oh and there's a bit of coarse language in there, so I warned you~

It had been exactly one week, two days, twelve hours, forty seven minutes, and thirty three, thirty four… seconds since Arthur Kirkland had ran into Alfred again, but who was counting?

He was currently seated on the couch, eating take-out with Peter. That egging feeling of emptiness was getting to him- as it persisted to do. In attempts to brush it off, he pushed the blanket over his knees, getting an annoyed response from Peter, and reverted to a comfortable slumped position on the back of the couch with a fork. His provided chop sticks were discarded on the table in front of them. He had asked the woman to leave them out, but she the insisted that he take them, saying one cannot eat takeout without having chopsticks. He had attempted to explain that he didn't need them, his pride far too large to actually admit he could not use them properly, but had wound up unsuccessful. So now, Peter made a point of using his chopsticks – much to Arthur's chagrin.

There was some sort of Christmas movie on the telly, one Arthur wasn't particularly interested in. He was eating his food peacefully, or so it seemed to any normal passerby. Peter, though he was young, understood one thing: there was something wrong with his older brother. He'd seen plenty of things irritate his brother, but nothing had managed to actually change his manner of living. Peter liked to consider himself well enlightened for a child of ten- and he would bet his game boy that something had been troubling Arthur severely.

His usual older brother would get up early, despite detesting the hour – because that's how mom had raised them. His usual older brother would then make a cup of tea, but not only had Arthur been sleeping in past ten thirty, he had been neglecting his cup of tea! And on top of that, he had been getting to bed awfully late – something else that was unusual. He had also been neglecting to take his shower at precisely seven thirty two every evening, now the times were scattered and spastic- like he was actually doing something because he felt like it for once. And Arthur had been neglecting his usual sweater vests for just regular old beat up tee-shirts, and his pressed trousers for sweat pants, and he walked around the house barefoot instead of wearing his usual slippers, and he didn't make a futile, redundant fuss over his bird's nest of hair in the morning, nor did he sit up straight like always. The point being, Arthur worked like clockwork, and one of the hands must've stopped working.

Peter, being only ten, had no comprehension of what troubled his rather reserved brother. He was always grumpy, but never submissive like he was being now. It was strange for Peter, and rather alienating. He wanted to just ask him, but he wasn't sure how to go about it without getting a provocative response. Arthur never liked to share his feelings, especially not with his younger brother. But Arthur had always been completely consistent, and solid for Peter. He'd never seen anything bother him that made this awkward attitude arise from him. He wasn't even glaring or scowling as usual. He was just staring out the window with a blank expression on his face. He'd barely touched his food. Peter attempted to lighten the suffocating mood.

"Artie?"

"Hm?" He hummed. Peter frowned. That was an unusual response. No glare, no 'don't call me that,' no growl of annoyance. Peter continued on anyway.

"Do you want some hot chocolate?"

"Sure." There was definitely something wrong. Peter stared at his older brother. It was like he was a totally different person. Arthur had a very strong disdain for hot cocoa, a very strong disdain. Peter knew this because that was precisely why he liked it so much. Arthur had agreed to share a cup of hot cocoa with Peter, which was very wrong. It made Peter feel the slightest twinge of uneasiness. With his brother acting so strange he wondered what all he could get away with that he normally wouldn't be able to, but the fact of his brother's attitude change was far too distressing to be taken advantage of. He wondered if there was a way to help it, a way to put Arthur back to normal. Peter would try his best, if he knew how to help. Little did he know that the only thing that could fix his Artie was currently flipping burgers at a diner not too far off from their apartment.

"What did you do this last weekend Arthur?" Francis asked absently. Arthur's history book was cracked open to some middle page that Francis had no doubt the Brit had actually read to. Arthur was not actually reading it currently, surprisingly. He was staring out the window blankly, much to Francis's annoyance. Sure the Brit was distant, but never so docile- it was slightly awkward.

"Huh- what?" Francis smiled that sly grin that the ladies always fell for. He tilted his head to the side- as if mimicking an owl.

"What is my little Artie thinking about so intensely?" He smirked at the familiar look of anger he elicited from the blonde. At least there was something normal going on with the man. Francis had known Arthur for almost two years now, and he'd never seen him like this. It was interesting, in the least, but quite annoying for Francis.

See, it was no secret to the rest of his friends that he spent far too much time with Arthur. To be honest Francis had been trying to get into the man's pants ever since they shared Philosophy two years ago. Francis couldn't explain it. He usually went for the pretty – faced types; the softer, more effeminate ones – and while Arthur was quite slender and thin, his face was definitely not Francis' usual type. For one thing those ghastly eyebrows needed to be carefully waxed – but that didn't really bother him all that much. It was baffling.

Furthermore, Francis was a bit confused on what he was sticking around for – but he figured that his unexplainable attraction to the man stemmed from the fact that he was unattainable. Arthur was so uptight that one could visibly see the stick sticking up his tight ass. He'd love to get in on that and loosen it up for him- relax him a bit. He wondered if Arthur had ever had any at all, as stuffy as he was. Naturally Arthur refused every single one of his attempts, and what's worse was he seemed to be completely oblivious to his intentions all the while. It was infuriating, but he was not about to give up – no way.

Arthur looked back to his book with that serious frown – _ah mon amour your face is going to get wrinkles like that._

"I asked you not to call me that. Or refer to me in such a way." He said distantly, getting and annoyed 'tsk' from the Frenchman.

"Come on Arthur; tell me what's bothering you." He looked up from his book, and Francis could see that the usual green in his eyes was dulled and light circles were forming beneath his eyes. What was this? Arthur looked at him silently for a couple seconds before returning to his book.

"Nothing at all is bothering me." Francis pursed his lips.

"Oh sure," He said sarcastically. Arthur let out an irritated scoff, snapping his book shut stiffly.

"What makes you think there is something wrong with me?" He nearly screamed. Francis smirked. Well at least overreacting was a bit more normal to his regular attitude.

"Well, my dear Arthur, you haven't insulted me once since I sat down! I was starting to get worried about your health." Francis brushed some eraser shavings from the table, talking passively just to annoy the Briton.

"You dolt." He muttered, standing up.

"Where are you going Arthur?" The Brit looked positively un-amused as he muttered something beneath his breath and stormed off. Francis followed his figure all the way to the café's counter, paying special attention to his rear. It certainly didn't compare to Toni's but it was still nice.

Francis sighed in contentment, taking a sip of his own coffee. He usually didn't drink it, but college will do that to you. He looked out the window, wondering just what exactly could be bothering his precious Arthur. He'd never seen him so agitated, and to top it off, he didn't know where to begin. What could bother him that much? Certainly not Peter. Francis had never actually met the boy (there was probably a reason for that) but Arthur seemed to have a rather soft spot for his baby brother. He didn't think Peter could possibly distress him this much. What else could bother him? He wasn't involved with anyone- not that Francis knew anyway, and he made it his business to know whether he was involved or not; else his chances be further decreased.

Unless…

Mon dieu. Arthur had a crush on someone. And it _wasn't Francis! _

His phone buzzed in his pocket. How did he allow this to happen? He wondered as he fished the buzzing thing from his back pocket. Who could it possibly be? No one at this school. He glanced down at his buzzing phone. The name read Antonio across the screen, but he would bet good money Antonio wasn't on the other end. He accepted the call, pushing the cold plastic to his ear.

"Salut?"

"AAAAAAAAAHH! Francis~ Where a-a-a-are youuuuu?" What do you know, it was Toni. Francis smiled to himself, silently laughing at his friend. He was drunk already. He almost wished he was there too – if he were not here with Arthur.

"I'm at the college café mon ami." He replied, running his finger around the rim of his coffee cup.

"Whaaaaaa…. Again? Is Arthur there too?" Francis smiled once again. He missed his friends. He needed to call them up more often.

"Why else would I be here? I wouldn't come all alone!" Toni laughed, his voice was slurred slightly.

"What! H-He-"There was loud shuffling over the phone.

"Hey! Get your ass over here Francis! You're missing all the fun!" Gilbert sounded sober enough. That was good. Toni was always the one to get plastered first.

"I'm having quite a good time, merci." He could practically feel that eye roll he knew Gilbert was doing.

"Ah come on man! You need to get over that fag! Go give some other sorry sap your dick and quit sulking!" Francis frowned. He knew Gil was right, but…

He just couldn't get over Artie. Believe him, he'd tried. He sighed, caving to Gilbert's relentless good points.

"Oh alright. Where are you two?"

"Keseseseee~ Were at Toni's house. Hurry up before-"Before he could finish his sentence there was a loud burst from the other end of the phone, causing Francis to physically hold it from his ear.

"DAMN BASTARD! YOU GET YOUR NASTY HOMO FACE AWAY FROM ME!" He chuckled, a few pretty images running through his mind. Ohohohohohohon Toni, naughty boy. What _was_ he doing to his little Lovi?

"Bah hahahahaha!" Francis shook his head as Arthur returned to his seat. Gil did have the strangest of laughs.

"Alright Gil, I'll be there in fifteen."

"You'd better!" He laughed out. Francis could hear his hysterical wheezing on the other end. He ended the call before he could hear more of that hysteria. He glanced to Arthur, taking in a breath.

"Ah well I don't know what's bothering you," He did, but not the specifics. By god he would find out if it was the last thing he did. "But you'd better be all better by the next time I see you!" He pulled his bag over his shoulder, giving Arthur a wink – which was ignored. Oh he would have some snooping to do – that's for sure. But for now, "I'll see you later, Artie."

"Bloody frog! Get on with it." He hissed, earning a light chuckle from Francis.

"Yeah yeah," He said with a wave of dismissal, and strode out. He would not lose his Arthur so easily.

Arthur sighed, seeing his breath emit in the cold. He really wanted the winter to be over, but there were still months yet. He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. He had left early to go shopping for Peter's Christmas present. Arthur wasn't really good at this sort of thing, and he didn't really know what to get him. He knew, for one thing, that his younger brother had taken a liking to videogames since they'd gotten here, so he went to the nearest game exchange. He may not be able to afford something brand new…but…

He walked in the near empty store, save for the clerk. The boy looked up at him as soon as he walked inside. He was wearing a jacket and a beanie as he read some foreign book. Once he took a second look, he himself did look rather foreign – of Asian descent.

Arthur stepped in awkwardly – not knowing where to go from here. He didn't know a thing about videogames, and normally didn't condone the activity, but Peter really liked them… and he quite honestly deserved to have a little something since Arthur couldn't buy him things like their parents used to be able to. Peter was such a good kid, sometimes Arthur wondered if he'd have been better off with one of his elder brothers. Scott would have been a good match. He had a steady job and all…but he was a heavy drinker. And a smoker. He sighed, defeated. Poor Peter.

"Uhm. Excuse me?" Arthur approached the counter apprehensively. Well, maybe the clerk could recommend something. The boy looked up from the book.

"Yes Sir? May I help you?" His accent was barely noticeable, but it was there enough for Arthur to figure out that he had one. He couldn't tell which though.

"Yes, well, you see. I have a younger brother who has… I think it's a game boy or something. And I wanted to buy him another game for it for Christmas, but I didn't know which one to get…?" The Asian boy smiled at him, quietly closing the book and setting it aside.

"Ah yes, well I would recommend any of these," He stated very softly, pulling out a key from the back shelf. He unlocked the glass case and skillfully plucked three or four games from the case, as if he knew exactly where they'd been set. After a handful of games, he gingerly laid them out on the counter in a perfect line. "I have played all of them before, they are quite entertaining." Arthur looked at the boy. He was so studious looking, very serious. He would never have pegged him for the gaming type, but on the other hand everyone in America seemed to play some form of videogame. They even have work out programs for the systems for Christ's sake. Arthur looked them over, still a bit clueless about which to choose.

"Well thank you," He said uncertainly. He looked them over, deciding to just pick one. It was the thought that counted, right? He picked one from the line, which was under the title of Pokémon. He faintly recalled Peter talking about it once, and he'd even caught him watching it on television early in the morning once. "I think he'll like this one…he watches it on the telly sometimes." The black haired boy smiled at him, and gathered the games up.

"That one is a classic." He said, placing them all back in the specific places. Arthur wished he had a memory like that. Jeez. "I enjoyed it very much." Arthur followed him to the cash register, paying a whopping seven dollars for the game. Arthur liked that price. Maybe they would come here often when they could afford it. Arthur sighed in relief. Well that had gone more smoothly than expected.

"Thank you for the help." He said to the boy before taking his bag.

"No probrem at all." He replied curtly with a slight bow. Arthur then exited the shop, hurrying to Peter's school. He had after school activities today – but Arthur's detour had taken up most of his time. He stuffed the bag into the breast of his coat so Peter wouldn't see. Hopefully he would like the game.

"Hey Artie!" Peter waved from across the lot, motioning him over. Arthur sighed, complying. He was standing in front of that same girl as before, the one he presumed to be Isabelle. She was pretty, for a girl so young. She would probably be a stunning teen when she got older. She had loose curls dangling lightly from beneath her hat and sparkling hazel eyes. Peter was grinning as he walked over. Arthur spotted a few boys on the other side of the playground, eyeing them with steely glares. Arthur shot them back one, making them hastily turn away.

"Hey Peter, how was school?" Peter smiled.

"It was good. I kept my hat this time!" He exclaimed excitedly. "See?" He pointed to the clearly visible hat on top of his head. Peter looked rather cute in it, Arthur had to admit. It was a wonder that he hadn't been made fun of. Well…maybe he had.

"I see that." He said, placing his hand on top of his head. "Glad to see my hard earned money isn't going to the dumpster." Peter's smile faltered a bit, but he quickly brightened back up.

"This is Isabelle," He said, pointing to the girl beside him. "Isabelle, this is my brother, Artie."

"Arthur." He interjected automatically. She smiled brightly at him, with a slight giggle.

"It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Kirkland." Arthur smiled a little sheepishly. He wasn't used to such formal speech. Maybe it was good Peter was hanging about with this girl. Her good manners might rub off on him.

"Please," He said, "Arthur will work just fine." She nodded. Peter continued excitedly, like a hyperactive puppy.

"I wanted you to meet her, she invited me to her birthday party which is in a couple weeks, isn't that great?" Arthur swore his breath was forming a visible fog between them. He needed to slow down a bit. Arthur smiled at him. So that's what this was all about.

"Yes it is, I'm glad you're making new mates." There was a loud honk from behind them, startling the girl.

"Oh! That's my mom." She waved at the car, holding up her finger. She hurriedly took off her bag, tearing the zipper open. She dug around in her bag, taking out a pristine envelope from the sack. She presented it to Arthur in her pink gloved hands. "I would really appreciate it if Peter could come!" She said with a light blush. Arthur couldn't tell if it was from the cold or embarrassment. Arthur accepted the envelope. Another honk persisted that she hurry. "Oh, well I gotta go!" She grabbed her bag hastily, without even bothering to zip it up properly, and dashed off to the waiting suburban.

"Bye!" Peter yelled excitedly, waving after her. She pulled open the door with a little difficulty and scurried inside. Peter sighed as the car pulled out of the icy lot. Arthur, however, was a bit too busy watching the prowling boys across the lot. They were headed this way, with rather unfavorable looks on their snotty faces. "Boy she's nice isn't she?" Peter turned to look over to his elder brother, visibly deflating when he saw that he wasn't paying attention. He followed his gaze, and stiffened upon the sight.

"Peter, are those the boys who pick on you?" Peter stayed silent, but nodded. He backed up a bit, leaning against Arthur. "They've been eyeing us the whole time… I don't know who they think they are coming over here." He muttered. He did not tolerate any harsh word against his baby brother, let lone some snot – nosed shit-faced sodders pushing him around.

"Arthur, please try to be nice…" He whispered. He could feel Peter clench the hem of his coat, pulling on it slightly like he used to when he was younger. He made no promises. He put a protective arm about his brother's shoulders. The herd of maybe four boys finally made it to the pavement, sneering.

"Hey there Peter," The one in front leered. Peter looked to the side, murmuring quietly.

"Hello…"

"Who's that?" He nodded to Arthur, his pockets eating up his hands.

"I'm his older brother you prat. What do you want?" He said rather shortly. He was getting cold, and he wanted to just get this over with.

"That the hell is 'prat'? Really you Brits need to learn to speak _English." _He sniggered. Arthur twitched. Him? _Learn _to speak English? Oh no.

"You Yanks need to get a grip! Incompetent sodding wazzoks need to get your shit-faced heads on straight. I speak _proper English, _wanker! And as I'm sure the reason for your incomprehension of what I'm saying has nothing to do with the language barrier, but more so from the blinkered nature of your simpleton minds." He grabbed Peter's shoulder, who was looking up at him astonished. He mentally noted to apologize to him later for his coarse language. He eyed them harshly. "And if you ever lay a hand on my brother I'll have your bollocks cut clean off. Shove off and go home." He turned Peter around, who was still clutching the edge of his coat. "Come on then, let's go home." Behind him, he could hear the boys whispering.

"What the fuck is a wanker?"

"I don't know. What are bollocks?" Another replied harshly. He rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to turn around and tell them to go look it up. After they were a good distance away, Peter finally piped up.

"I thought I asked you to be nice…" Arthur shrugged.

"They were bloody arseholes." He muttered. "Don't let them bother you." Peter looked up at him. "And sorry for that…foul mouth you had to hear." A smile cracked across his face.

"I don't care, Artie. I'm just glad you were there at all!" Arthur ruffled his hat lightly.

"I don't want to hear a word of that from your mouth, you hear? Ill box your ears if I do!" Peter laughed, shaking his head.

"Yeah, sure you will! Wazzock!"

That was the end of chapter six! It was sort of a filler chapter. I tried to keep it interesting by switching Povs and stuff! Tell me if you like that? And thank you so much MadamG3 for the review! I really try hard to get my style of writing the way it is (that weird mixture of blunt and sarcastic and suck xD ) so that really it a wonderful compliment for me! Thank you so much! And I must say that you fine my version of self- reflection heartwarming. A lot of what I make Arthur realize is true for myself too, we are quite similar x3. I love writing him, and it makes me happy to know that you enjoy reading it as much as I love creating it. Thank you loads!

8


	7. What's Wrong with Me?

HEY HEY EHY GUYS. WHAZZUP? Anyhow…this chapter is kinda longish and a bit coarse.

Language and sexual themes, you've been warned :D

* * *

"What do you want for dinner, Peter?" Arthur was at a loss for what to feed him…again.

"Uh, isn't that your job?" He asked, staring at the TV absently. He had begun another one of his 'channel flipping sessions' where he would rapidly flip through every channel he could until he found something suitable to watch. Unfortunately, when these sessions took place, it was usually predetermined that there was nothing to watch on the telly. It was Wednesday night- one of those nights where absolutely nothing came on TV. Arthur sighed in annoyance. He would say that.

"Peter."

"Alright, Alright." He set down the remote, turning to face Arthur. "I don't know, how about Pizza?" Arthur frowned.

"You had pizza last night." Peter crinkled up his face.

"But you asked me what I wanted!" Arthur shook his head. The kid couldn't live off Chinese and pizza for the rest of his life. "Peter, we have to start eating better, we can't eat the same things over and over." Peter sighed in irritation, and shook his head.

"I don't care what we eat." He said flatly. Arthur's eyes narrowed in frustration. Honestly, couldn't he be the least bit cooperative?

"Peter, come on?" Peter promptly ignored him, taking his eyes directly to the telly and staring at it as if there was actually something holding his eyeballs there – like some sort of magnetic force. Arthur huffed. He didn't have to go out of his way to feed Peter, really. All he really wanted to do right now was sleep. His finals were coming up and they were cracking down with fork lifts of homework(literally, he saw one out in the main library filled to the top with boxes of papers and books.), between studying and taking care of Peter there wasn't much time left for sleep. And the little time allotted for sleep was being consumed one hundred percent wholly by one pair of mystical blue eyes.

He refused to even think the name. He refused to even acknowledge it.

Oh, but how could he _not? _He was everywhere Arthur looked. The words in his text books somehow merged together to make Alfred's laughing fucking beautiful face, the sky, no matter how blue or grey, always seemed to resemble the beautiful color that Arthur just didn't believe possible; and when he closed his eyes, Alfred crept in beneath his eyelids.

Bullocks.

How could he not acknowledge that? Just how? It was driving him insane. Not to mention he was getting behind on sleep. He was pretty sure he'd had a hallucination in the shower the other day when Alfred was knocking on the door. Yeah, there was no way that was real. His fixation was getting- no it was already so, so, so, so, SO FAR out of hand. There had to be a way to fix this. There just _had _to. He was not going to be stuck in this rut for the rest of his life- what was he thinking? He couldn't do this for the next week! His body couldn't take it. There had to be a way out.

Arthur closed his eyes. He couldn't just go to bed now though. He had to feed Peter. He took a deep breath. He could already feel the small tendrils of sleep pulling him down –

"Peter, would you like to go out to dinner?" The magnetic felid holding his eyes to the television must've broken because Peter's eyes snapped to his in a time lapse of zero seconds.

"YOU BET I DO!" Arthur let out his breath slowly. It was fine. He just had to make it through a couple hours. Peter would eat, they would come home, and Arthur could maybe sleep a little…

"Alright, where would you like to go?" Peter stopped to think about it.

"Well I heard that there's this new French restaurant that opened up at school the other day," Arthur stiffened. _French food? Was this child trying to maim his pride?_ "Apparently it's really good. And I figured…" Peter trailed off a bit nervously. He knew Arthur's problems with French food. "'know?" He gushed everything out in one huge breath, impressing his elder brother only for a few seconds. The awe faded very quickly as his brain pieced together most of the words. His little brother had a good point, but he knew it was just an excuse to go to the restaurant. See, as Peter knew his older brother's disdain for French cuisine (because it was so good that is,) Arthur also knew his younger brother's love for it. He lived, ate (obviously), and breathed French food. He would kill for it.

Arthur couldn't say no to that sort of indulgence. Not to Peter. He sighed in defeat. Well apparently they would be having French food this evening.

"Alright, as long as you know where it is I don't mind." Peter nearly jumped off the couch as he ran to the door.

* * *

Unfortunately, the French restaurant was not all that far from their apartment, unlike the now forbidden diner, it was only a few blocks down the road.

How depressing.

But, it was quite warm inside. That was a plus. To Arthur's relief, there was no sign of his _lovely _French acquaintance anywhere. The girl at the front of the desk didn't even have 'ze accent.' She seated them quickly, seeing as they were quite busy. Peter awkwardly pulled off his heavy coat, pushing the fluffy thing to the wall of the booth. Arthur did the same, seeing as it was quite warm in the restaurant.

Like most restaurants in this town, the lighting was quite dim. But, for this restaurant it was not all that strange, setting an almost 'romantic' mood with the smoldering red furnishings and black tones in the walls and dishes. That's French for you.

He didn't like it.

"Bonjour, My name is- Ah! Arthur! How nice it is to see you~" Arthur cringed. He refused, momentarily of course, to look up. "And who is this?" He flinched as Francis' voice rose an octave on the word 'this'.

"My name's Peter! I'm Artie's little brother."

"Peter!" He chided. Artie? Did he have to say that in front of Francis? Not Francis would think it was okay to call him Artie. It was most definitely not okay.

"OH~" Arthur finally forced his eyes forward. "It's very nice to meet you, Peter." He smiled, that devilish lady-killing smile that always made Arthur cringe (even more so that he was doing that _to his little brother) . "_I thought I'd have met you before now! I'm your brother's friend from college." Peter smiled, making Arthur's inside writhe in agony. Oh fuck. Fucking bloody bullocks! The waiter was the bloody frog _Francis! And Peter was __**smiling**__ politely at him! _

This could not be happening.

Arthur silently apologized to Peter's innocence. He'd tried to keep him away as long as possible, that counted for something right?

Arthur cleared his throat, attracting the Frenchman's attention away from his impressionable little brother. Francis frowned.

"Really, eyebrows, there's no reason to be in a hurry." Arthur pursed his lips at that eyebrows comment. Was that necessary? Honestly? He closed his eyes, feeling the fringe of a migraine coming on.

"Francis if you would be so kind to just give us the menu," He could feel Francis' frown as he plopped the menus down on the table.

"Fine, Arthur." He snapped. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Try to get off your man period by then." Arthur gasped. Had he really just said that?

"Artie?" Arthur re-composed himself, looking back to Peter. "What's a man-period?" He stiffened. Oh god. Ohgod. Sweet Queen Elizabeth _it was starting_!

"I-I-it's nothing Peter!" He didn't really think that it was actually a real thing, so I guess he wasn't a total liar.

"But-"

"I. said. It's. Nothing." He insisted through clenched teeth. Peter shut his mouth with wide eyes.

"Kay." He picked up his menu and set it upright on the table so there was a wall between the two of them. Arthur usually would have felt a little twinge of guilt for snapping at him like that, but this time he didn't even flinch. He was just so exhausted. The urge to just lay his head down on the table was overwhelming, and the hysteria was making his eyes droop. He had to tap his foot to keep his eyes open, and there was a thick haze settling over everything. The background chatter was fading into a dull murmur. Arthur sighed, feeling his lids slowly dip –

"Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey dude!" He gasped, snapping his eyes open. His heart was beating so fast he would've sworn that someone had shot him up with something. He looked around frantically, desperately trying to pinpoint the familiar voice. But where ever he looked there was no sign of the beautiful wheat-colored locks, or the breathtaking azure eyes. Had he imagined it?

"Hey, Artie? Are you okay?" His question was timid, as if he were afraid that Arthur would snap and start screaming at him. He'd be lying to say that he wasn't tempted. Peter hadn't done a thing, but he was just so irritated. He rubbed his eyes, getting them to focus was the tricky part. Everything had faded into just blotches of tones and his eyes started prickling from the dry-ness.

"Uhm, yes. I'm quite fine. Just got something in my eye is all." Peter took the comment with a pinch of salt, looking back to his menu. He didn't believe his older brother for one second. There was something wrong, he was absolutely sure of it. Ever since he'd become conscious of Arthur's misbehavior, he'd mentally slapped himself for not noticing it sooner. There were so many signs. He wasn't even sleeping anymore. He would go to bed at ridiculous hours and wake up earlier than Peter. And he was almost always exhausted, and he looked as if he had to drag himself everywhere. There was no energy in his step anymore.

Of course he wasn't fine. But Peter didn't know what to do, so he wasn't going to say anything.

"Ah~ I'm back boys!" Francis nearly skipped up to the table, with a clean pad and pen in his hands. "And what would you like to drink?"

"HOT CHOCOLATE!" Peter exclaimed, shooting a fist up in the air excitedly.

"Ohh, the chef's hot cocoa is excellante!" Francis fawned, scribbling it down on the pad. He leaned forward, smirking at Arthur, who shot him a menacing glare. "And what would _you _like, mon cher?" Arthur didn't know what mon cher meant, and he didn't care to ever find out. He furrowed his brow, trying to concentrate long enough to order just water.

"Just give me a bloody water." He muttered, rubbing the heel of his hands over his temples. This migraine was going to be a bad one. Hopefully Peter would eat fast so they could just go home.

"You got it," Francis replied in uncertainty. Arthur was acting strange. Was it the boy? He didn't know who it was that his Arthur was crushing on so badly, but apparently his infatuation was taking a turn for the worse. He looked positively trashed. There were visible bags beneath his dulled eyes, and his skin looked a bit pale, not to mention the look of discomfort in his eyes that had replaced his usual scowl.

Francis would have to fix that. There was no way his Artie was going to get sick over this boy. No way would he allow it.

Peter had eaten relatively quickly, probably due to the tense atmosphere. Francis could tell Arthur was relieved to be able to get out of there sooner. So, as Arthur hurried to the door, Francis caught Peter's arm. The boy looked back at him with huge eyes.

"What is it?" He asked brightly, an unplaceable look on his face. Francis smiled, shoving a small piece of paper into his hand.

"Slip this into your brother's pocket, okay?" Peter looked down at the slip of paper, before closing his small little fist over the paper. He nodded with a serious look on his face. Francis smiled, nodding to the boy. He'd do the job, Francis knew it. "Now hurry up before he starts screaming." He chuckled. Peter joined in his laughter.

"No kidding!" He started running toward the door, briefly stopping to wave goodbye to Francis. Francis smiled at him, wiggling his fingers in goodbye. Peter smiled, and caught up to his brother, slipping his hand into his elder's. Francis chuckled to himself, watching the two. What a cute kid.

* * *

They had finally arrived back at the apartment, and Arthur stumbled through the door, muttering a sort of goodnight to Peter before slinking off to bed. He was so dead, he didn't even bother changing, or brushing his teeth for that matter. His teeth would survive one night without brushing.

He just took off his shirt, and his pants, and crawled into bed. Sure, he'd be cold…but who cares?

He huddled up beneath the comforter, laying his head down upon complete bliss. His pillow must've magically turned into a cloud, because he didn't ever remember it being so soft… and light. His dreary eyes slipped closed, and as the air rushed from his lungs his aching body went completely limp.

How long had it been since he'd had sleep? Three days? Four? God it had been far too long. Nothing seemed to be so distant except his sleep…

He sighed.

Except _him. _The angel.

There wasn't anything that seemed farther away than _that. _

Arthur felt defeated as that perfect face drifted into his mind. He was so tired that he really couldn't care less if he dreamed of Alfred. At least he'd get some sleep…and maybe it would be a good dream, who knows…

His eyes stung from the dry-ness, and his mind was already drifting off before he noticed that Alfred was already budding up inside his mind in his last waking moments of consciousness.

* * *

_It was warm, like a sauna. The heat was as intoxicating as any brandy or scotch he'd ever drank, getting his pulse up and his brain function sluggish. His eyesight was hazy, but the light surrounding him seemed to be simmering, a warm yellow color. _

_His breath was short, and nearly gasping. He couldn't catch it, as if it were literally running from him. His labored breath was having terrifying side-effects, and the tingling light-headed feeling was sinking in his head – taking root at his core. _

_He blinked a couple times; his body seemed to be moving slow, like time was getting lethargic. The blur only cleared slightly, showing him the slightest hint of golden brown skin. His eyes fluttered as his lungs forced in a huge breath of hot air, sticking all the way down his throat. Tingling erupted across his chest, as if his whole body had fallen asleep and was coming back from its daze. He found himself panting, overtaken by the prickling over his chest and neck. He tried to push himself upright, but found that he couldn't. He was too weak to even do that. His body was trembling, bare against the soft surface below his back. _

_He felt the warm blood in his cheeks and he let his head roll to the side. There was a hand there, mere centimeters from his nose. He could honestly feel his harbored breath as the hand was so close. The hand lifted up, running a warm finger over his hot, sticky cheek. It was gentle, and loving, making him shiver. His eyes nearly rolled back at the touch that felt so cool against his hot skin. He looked back up, feeling the other hand slide across his shoulder and chest, continuing farther down to his stomach. His breath hitched. What was happening? _

_He tilted his head back to see the man over him; being greeted with a flash of a loving smile and golden blonde hair. His heart lurched. He lugged his arm forward, feeling so weak. Gravity seemed to be so much heavier than usual, but he pushed through it slowly, reaching for that beautiful face above him. He had to touch him, had to feel that smooth skin with his fingertips. He needed it. He took in another gasping breath, running his hand across his neck. It was slightly slick with a thin sheen of sweat – from what he didn't know. His breath caught in his chest, keeping his muscles tense. He ran his fingers across the sharp jaw line, straining to reach those dazzling lips. _

_His breath was forced out of his lungs as the hand slipped even lower. He gasped in shock wishing that it would continue- with those dreamy cerulean blues gazing down at him. The chilled fingers traced over his hip bone carefully and smoothly slipped down his thigh. He wished he could groan, but the only thing he could arise from his tight throat was a feeble whimper. The trembling intensified, making his body shake with hunger. He needed more, but couldn't voice it so. He was trapped, hung from a thin thread to reach satisfaction. _

_The boy above him dipped his head lower, sending Arthur's hand into his silky locks. He forced the breath through his lungs, blinking faster to clear the foggy gaze. He craned his head to try and see- he needed those eyes to reassure him, but he could quite see them, hidden by the bleary miasma clouding his vision. He dug his shoulder blades into the sheet, pushing himself upward to push the hair from the angel's face –_

Gasping and sputtering he shot up, his arm groping into the empty darkness. He face was wet, and his bangs stuck to his head from the sweat. His chest was heaving, leaving the rest of his body shivering and shuddering with the clammy sweat. His boxers were stuck to his thighs, and he was slightly afraid to remove the comforter from his bare legs. As his racing hearts slowly calmed down, he ran his chilled hand over his burning face.

What the fuck?

Wh…what kind of dream was that…?

He wiped the sweat from his face, finally able to calm his breath. He pushed the initial shock from his mind, warily dragging his eyes to the clock.

4:26. My god it was 4:26 in the morning and he was having bloody—

He couldn't even think it. What was _wrong_ with him? This kind of thing had never happened before…

He pushed his wet bangs from his forehead and shoved the heavy blankets from his legs. The chilling bumps immediately rose on his skin. He stumbled from the bed, absently shuffling to his drawers. He didn't really want to go back to sleep now – especially in fear of having another one of those dreams…

He'd just go take a shower and watch TV. He was going to have to get up in a couple hours anyway. His first class started at eight… only three and a half hours away. That wasn't too much sleep loss.

He grabbed a baggy shirt and some pajama pants from the drawers and shuffled off to the bathroom.

He waited for the water to get scalding hot before he got in the shower. Maybe the intense heat would wash away the odd feeling in his stomach and the perturbing thoughts he'd woken up with. It didn't take long for the room to fill up with steam and the mirror fogged. He let the water run over his body, warming his shivering skin. His breathing finally seemed to calm down and his trembling stopped all together after a few minutes. Once the water seemed to start to burn, he decided it was probably time to get out before it got any worse.

He toweled off quickly, doing his best to think about absolutely nothing at all. He shrugged on his clothes, heading off to the couch.

The TV was still on; he'd apparently missed that when he'd walked to the bathroom. Peter was completely passed out on the couch. Arthur sighed. Really Peter knew better. Arthur carefully lifted him off the couch, being extra gentle so he didn't wake him up. He laid him on his bed, covering him up like he used to when he was young.

Then Arthur set down on the couch, watching nothing really in particular. He did his best to keep himself awake with a blank mind. That was all he needed.

Really, what was _wrong_ with him?

* * *

Poor Iggy! Hes so lonely and deprived! Anyway...that was chapter seven~ Did you like lol?

8


	8. Porn

WARNING! LANGUAGE AND Ideallogically sensitive material! And sorry for the late update guys! I had went to an anime convention and got busy unpacking and… yeah. But it was AWESOME. So… again sorry.

* * *

"What's this?" The morning was early, even though Arthur was already awake. He had been for the past three hours. Peter had gotten up, shoving a piece of paper at him like it was urgent or something.

"Uh… It's…from Francis…" Peter forced from his mouth. Arthur furrowed his brow, not really understanding.

"What? When did he give you this?"

"Last night. Look I'm gonna walk to school alone today. I know your class is early." Peter smiled and waltzed out the door before Arthur could object-which he wasn't. Normally he would have, but today… today was different. After that dream he'd had there was no way he wanted to be in anyone's company – let alone his innocent little brother's. Hell after that he just wanted to crawl in a hole and die. Please, be merciful and kill him now. Painlessly would be nice.

Peter was acting a bit unusual though…

With a sigh he unfurled the paper, seeing a URL written on it. Beneath the website address was a small note saying _'You looked like you needed it, from Francis.;)' _Arthur twitched. What was this? Did he even really want to know? What had he looked like he needed? Maybe it was sleeping pills. He'd be very grateful for some of those right about now.

He shrugged, shoving the small piece of paper into his pocket and continuing off to the university. Today would be a long day.

* * *

Arthur sat down at the coffee shop's computer. Some of them had a nice quiet place for him to sit. He had his regular late sitting neatly beside him, steaming away, and the unfurled, crinkled piece of paper laid out on the desk beside him. He sighed, wondering why Francis would've given the address to Peter instead of Arthur directly, and furthermore what exactly he'd troubled himself to write down this website on a piece of paper. It was a bit strange, but then again, just about everything Francis did was strange.

Arthur sighed, pulling up the internet to see exactly what this was all about. He took a sip of his late, feeling a tiniest bit better as the scorching liquid burned down his throat. He looked up over the brim of the computer, seeing that not really anyone was at the Starbucks quite yet. He glanced down at the paper and typed in the address, warily watching the screen for anything strange or weird. For some reason the site was taking ten ungodly years to load. He looked at the paper. It did sound like anything weird. Something about magazines or something. Why exactly was it taking so long to load then…?

Arthur leaned his cheek against his palm, his attention span fading from the task at hand. If he was already losing concentration on a task such as this… what was going to happen when he went to lecture hall today…?

His droopy eyes wearily glanced up at the screen.

His eyes went wide, and he was faintly aware of his face growing hot, but he wasn't exactly sure.

_My god._ It was pornography! Francis gave him a link to _porn!_

He gasped.

_He'd given it to his little brother first!_ Arthur's heart started beating fast, and hard. Oh dear god how did he let this happen? Peter had had porn in his pocket… well not exactly but it was close enough! His innocent and pure little brother had been carrying around something so vile! Arthur nearly wanted to burst into tears.

He paused.

Peter could not have even looked at this website. They did not own a computer. And Peter did not own a smart phone. He let out a sigh of relief. Okay. So Peter was safe. He closed the window, slumping back into his chair with his late.

But then…

The note said… 'You looked like you needed it. '

He looked like he needed porn…? That made him blush furiously. Him? Porn? He had more dignity than that! He was not a wanker for heaven's sakes! But he looked as if he needed it…? Oh good heavens… Francis was starting to catch on to his…whatever this was. He sank lower into the chair with a slight whine.

Why him?

Just….just why?

Arthur closed his eyes, taking a deep, calming breath. He took a large whiff of his late, feeling his nerves started to untangle themselves. He would be alright. He would just go to school and take that bloody frog's face off. Yeah. That would make him feel better. Much much better. Arthur righted himself, and gathered his things, making sure to grab the small slip of paper. He pocketed it, ready to give Francis an earful. He grabbed his late, and headed out the door.

He didn't know whether he was looking forward to this or not.

* * *

"Well, mon ami," Francis drawled, taking a long sip of water. Gilbert was kicked back, as usual, watching Antonio and Lovino with a bemused expression. "It looks like things will never change… or progress." Francis muttered the last part, just barely loud enough for Gil to hear. Gilbert smirked with a snicker, brushing some hair from his eyes.

"No kidding." He muttered. Lovino was prying Toni off of him, much to Toni's disdain. They needed to honestly just make out and get it over with already – which, Francis knew, Toni would comply in a heartbeat. Lovino, on the other hand, was another story. Francis didn't know whether it was because Lovi didn't consider himself to swing that way, or whether he just really hated outwardly affection _that_ much, but he refuted Antonio's _every_ advance. Albeit, it was very amusing to watch, he wouldn't deny, but it annoyed Francis almost as much as it pained Toni.

_C'est la vie. _

Toni clung to Lovino's arm, making a rather strange, happy reminded Francis faintly of his little brother Feli, who was always sighing :'ve.' Gilbert brought his feet off the table, moving to take a drink of his drink – which was probably beer. Gilbert liked to sneak it into school grounds, even though it was against rules. Not that Francis didn't break a number of rules himself. Gilbert had not been caught once, and Francis doubted he ever would.

"So," Gilbert muttered, wiping off his mouth. "How's it going with bushy brows?" Francis frowned at the comment, but also frowned at the question. How was it going with his sweet Arthur? It wasn't. That's how it was going. Francis sighed.

"Not so well, Je crains que." He murmured, stirring the lemon juice into his water. He couldn't even stand his water to be bland, much less his attitude; but it was starting to deflate into something quite flat over Arthur. He just couldn't get past that short little boy he'd grown quite fond of.

But, he'd had a crush on someone else. And it was making the poor guy sick – almost physically so. It damn near broke his heart –

If one could break Francis' heart that is. Gilbert frowned, shrugging.

"I told you just to move on. He isn't worth the time." He muttered, smirking as Lovino smacked Antonio atop the head with a rather thick, hard- backed text book.

"Eyaah!" Toni grabbed the sore spot on his head, rubbing it with a hurt pout. "Mierda! Mi poco de tomate!" The Spaniard whined. "Usted no necesita golpear tan duro!" he rubbed the bump on his head with a protruding lip, looking up at Lovino with those irrefutable puppy dog eyes. Lovino twitched, unsure of how to respond. Even a straight man would call that cute. Francis forgot about the previous conversation to watch the current events unfold, eager to see if today might be the fateful day that Lovi finally caved.

Lovino's face twisted into one of twinging guilt, making Francis and Gilbert lean in slightly. Come on… almost… And then into a scowl of annoyance. Francis let out a depressed sigh, leaning back in his chair, followed by Gilbert who looked just as sour. Gilbert was the only one in the trio who was straight, but the irritating sexual tension between everyone else in the group clearly got on his nerves – Francis could tell.

He wanted them to fuck just as badly as Francis did.

The two let out an irritated sigh.

"Your little tomato? I am not your damn little tomato!" Lovi yelled, getting slightly red in the face. He slipped from Spanish to Italian, and continued his ranting. "Esci aggrappato a mi, bastardo maledetto pomodoro!" The Italian was lost on Francis, not to mention Gilbert, but he was pretty sure that the Spaniard had understood every word of it. He took a deep breath, one hundred percent unfazed by the outburst, and threw his arms around the smaller boy, receiving a loud groan from the Italian. The Spaniard poked the younger boy in the face, grinning eagerly up at him with those dazzling green eyes.

"?" He exclaimed as if something blasphemous had slipped from the younger boy's lips. "What are you saying? Of course you're mi poco de tomate~" He sang. Lovi slumped over crossing his arms with a 'humph!' Francis knew what he was saying; 'my little tomato' was a nickname that Toni had given the younger boy from his intense red blush that occasionally tinted his cheeks. Francis sighed in wonder. If only his little Arthur was so compliant… or maybe compliant wasn't the word. If only he wasn't so much of a prude. He freaked out at the tiniest touch on the shoulder. Good lord, Francis wanted to just maybe give him a hug sometimes.

He pouted, watching with a twinge of jealousy as the Spaniard began nuzzling the younger boy's shoulder affectionately.

Gilbert shook his head at the display.

"Kesesesesesesesesese~" He chuckled, taking another drink from his beer. Francis was certain that's what it was now. There was a certain way that Gilbert drank beer, and a certain way that Gilbert drank anything that wasn't beer. That was definitely beer. "Maybe we could hit the club tonight or something…or go back to Toni's house and lock them in a closet." He muttered lowly, earning a snicker from Francis. Yes locking them in a closet sounded nice. Maybe a big closet though… give them a little wiggle room.

Francis snickered.

"You bloody _frog_!" Gilbert stopped mid-sip and Francis perked up. Was that his little Artie? He turned around scanning the area until-

_Slap!_

Silence.

"KESESESESESSSESESESESE!"

"…errm… mi amigo…?" Francis blinked, looking up at Arthur dumbfounded. Had Arthur just slapped him? Had Arthur just _slapped _him…? He was pretty sure Gilbert had fallen out of his chair laughing, while clutching his stomach, and he was pretty sure Toni was licking his lips nervously. But it took a second for it to register. Arthur looked like he was fuming, with his wrinkled t-shirt sticking out from the bottom of his jacket, and his scarf that was barely clinging onto his neck at this point. His hips were shifted, much like a woman would stand, with his fist clenched and his usual late clutched tightly enough that the plastic was bending beneath his fingers. It looked like the lid was about to pop off. Francis didn't say a word about it though. His mind was swimming in all the possible reasons that his beautiful Arthur was glowering down at him just then. He blinked, the thought of the previous night flittering into his mind. He took a deep breath, calming the small part of him that was deeply wounded by such blatant rejection, and tilted his head to the side. With closed eyes, he smiled brightly.

"It's so nice to see you too, Arthur." Francis smoothed over his irritation welling up inside, thanking the havens that Arthur was willingly approaching him at all. If he wasn't worth speaking to willingly, at least he was worth yelling at.

"What were you thinking?" He seethed. Francis smirked, leaning his cheek down on the flat of his knuckles.

"Why, I don't know what you mean, Arthur." Arthur growled, and grabbed Francis' collar, bringing him clean out of his seat. It was surprising how strong Arthur actually was, despite his small frame.

"Like hell you don't, "He jolted Francis, bringing him down to his level. His caterpillar eyebrows were furrowed, and his pale pink lips were bunched up in a pout-ish scowl. He was really pissed. Though, the thing was, it was actually quite cute. Francis couldn't bear to be angry, or worried that he was angry with him. "How in your right mind would you give _that_ to my _little ten-year-old brother_?" He all but shouted. Francis blinked. What? Oh. Right. That. He smirked.

"What? Come now , Artie. I knew that you didn't have a computer! Peter never had any intention of looking at that paper, you raised him after all." Arthur faltered in his anger, taking the compliment into consideration. He did something quite similar to what Lovino had done minutes before. His face contorted into a confused puzzlement, his grip on Francis' shirt loosening ever so slightly; but then a cloudy expression loomed across his face, which was really almost intimidating.

"I don't care about your damn _flattery_, you French bastard! I swear if you step within even a five foot radius of my brother ever again, I will personally rip your face off." He shook Francis once more, shoving him away. The back of his knees slammed against the chair, making him sit as Arthur marched off, muttering to himself. The chair teetered from the sudden weight, making him nearly fall backward. He grabbed the table, steadying himself.

"Eh… Mi amigo?" Toni asked hesitantly. Francis stared at the floor, processing what had just transpired. Arthur was genuinely angry with him, huh? He was serious about Peter. He smiled to himself. That was sweet. Francis blinked, smiling back at Toni, despite the pain welling up inside him. Bittersweet rejection was eating away at his soul. Francis, the one who had always showed people the way to their love, couldn't even find any himself. Awesome.

There was a hand on his shoulder, and Francis blinked, looking at its source. Gilbert was giving him a sympathetic smile.

"You weren't kidding when you said not so well, eh?" Francis smiled.

"He'll come 'round."

He wasn't so sure.

* * *

Arthur was not in the mood to be fucked with. How bad was his problem that even Francis thought there was something wrong? There had to be a way to fix this. He figured that the only way to fix it was to ask the kid out… but he didn't know if Alfred was legal. Actually…he did not even know Alfred in general beyond his gorgeous looks. He pouted, fiddling with his pencil. He had to go get Peter soon… school had just gotten out for him. He sighed and pushed up off the table. Okay. Maybe he would just 'bump' into him again. No that was retarded (which was a word Arthur preferred to use very strictly.) He frowned, heading toward Peter's school. He nibbled on the pencil, though he really hadn't used it at all today, and its purpose had been lost long before he'd left the table.

He turned down the corner. How was he going to see Alfred again? He knew where the kid worked… but he didn't really want to go to a diner… And furthermore, he wouldn't be able to get to that diner without Peter… even if he did Peter would be fuming if he didn't tag along. He'd fallen in love with Alfred's food. Arthur would be lying if he said he wasn't jealous. So how was he to see Alfred again without nearly stalking the poor kid? He didn't really know. Furthermore he did not want to go around stalking someone…and then again, he didn't have the time for stalking anyhow. College, Peter, and sleep were all very time consuming.

Arthur sighed in exasperation, groaning as he gnawed on the pencil once more. How was he going to fix his little problem…? He was not about to masturbate – good lord Francis was a dolt! He growled, seething still from the events that morning.

What was he going to do?

* * *

"Hey, A-Alfred…?" The whispering voice drifted past his ears quietly – he almost didn't register it. Alfred looked up, glancing at his brother. He smiled.

"Yeah?"

"Did you finish that essay…? You know it's due before Christmas break right?" Alfred turned back to what he had been doing previously, namely, playing his play station.

"I still have time." He murmured, staring at the screen open-mouthed. He was completely entranced by the Call of Duty character that happened to be playing seriously kick ass. Yeah, that's right, Alfred F. Jones was _fucking awesome_ at Call of Duty, and _everyone_ should know. Uhuh! That's right!

"Alfred…Christmas break starts on Tuesday…"

"Uh-huh." Alfred nodded in recognition, but he did not catch a word that his brother was saying – and Mathew knew it too. He sighed, pushing his glasses further up on his face.

"Alfred. Tuesday is less than a week away. It's Wednesday." Alfred blinked, shooting yet another man down. Wednesday…Wednesday…Wednesday…. HOLY CRAP TODAY WAS WEDNESDAY! He hadn't even started his paper! It was supposed to be at least six pages long! F-f-f-f-f-f-

"Holy fuck!" He shouted randomly, startling his brother.

"A-Alfred! Was that really necessary?"

"Crap! Mattie-" Alfred looked to his studious brother with pleading eyes. Mathew stiffened up.

"N-no! I'm not bailing you out this time!" With an unnaturally stiff back the boy marched back to his own room, shutting the door firmly behind him. Alfred deflated. Nuuu! He'd have to do this all by himself… and it was his senior year too! He pouted. He thought senior year would be a breeze…

Guess not.

He set the controller down, pressing pause. Well… He guessed he should go down to the library. He sighed. And he was doing so awesome too! Why –

He cut himself off mid-thought. If he kept on like that he'd never leave.

He saved properly, shut down the system, put everything back into perfect places, and headed for his jacket. His videogames were pretty much the only clean aspect of his room, and he was actually kind of a freak about them. No one touched them ever, unless it was him. Not even Mathew. He kept them neatly lined up on the stand below his own television, and the play station was on the shelf just above that. There was a clear system to his gaming life and it should not **ever** be messed with.

He blew out a fast breath, grabbing his American Flag hoodie. It was grungy looking, and he had grown rather fond of it over the years. He shoved it on, pausing only to fix his glasses as he tugged on his coat over that. His wallet and phone were safely tucked away in his pocket already – he hadn't bothered to mess with them after his friend…well he wasn't sure if friend was the right word… well whatever he was, had been complaining about some random girl that Alfred honestly couldn't care less about. He pulled on his nice new set of Beats, because they were awesome and kept his ears warm. He slid the earphones into his iPhone, and continued on his way down the stairs.

Really it was so stupid. Alfred liked girls, sure; but to get all worked up over one wasn't exactly something that Alfred considered 'the norm.' Alfred dabbled here and there with girls, but had never really committed to anyone in particular. After his five months with a sweet girl named Lilli Alfred had just stopped dating altogether. Her older brother was terrifying! And… He didn't know. He just had never really been all that _into _girls. He found the whole dating scene kind of boring, so when his acquaintance started yammering on and on about one…

Well it just wasn't something he could, or wanted to, empathize with.

Alfred grabbed his keys, heading out with a quick farewell.

As usual, the streets were cold, and thick with snow. He shuffled through the songs on his phone, picking a random one that would pass the time. He kept his gaze forward, heading in the general direction of the Library. He wasn't really thinking of anything in particular, mulling about what Mathew was going to cook for dinner – it was his turn. Alfred smirked at the thought of pancakes. That sounded really good actually.

He glanced to the other side of the street, seeing a pair of brothers. One was chattering on excitedly, tugging on the elder brother's arm. The Elder brother seemed to not be paying attention, with a pencil sticking out of the side of his mouth. Alfred raised his eyebrow, wondering why in the world he would be chewing on a pencil. The younger one tugged the older one forward, into the icy street. Still, the elder brother was not paying attention, letting the younger lead him onto the dangerous street. He could faintly make out the younger one's voice – it had a strange accent to it. Like…British.

They seemed to be headed straight for him. He slipped his headphones off, thinking that he may talk to him. He frowned, looking around to see if there was someone else nearby. He turned around in a one-eighty, looking directly at the store before him.

It was a video rental store.

The couplet strode past him, Alfred watched them go, catching a small snippet of the younger's rambling.

"There was this new movie that Isabelle was telling me about and she said that it was really good so I wanted to rent it and …" The rest of the boy's sentence was blocked from Alfred's ears. Really that voice sounded familiar. He just couldn't quite place where he'd heard it before. He watched them both; the older one looked up finally, after being dragged such a far distance. The pencil left his mouth. Alfred could see all the indentions where the boy had gnawed at it. He blinked. He looked up at the other's face, seeing stricken emerald's staring at him and highly raised bushy eyebrows. The boy continued to drag the elder away, but his eyes were trained on Alfred, looking much like a deer in headlights. Alfred blinked. He'd seen those dazzling emeralds before…and those eyebrows!

OH RIGHT! They had eaten at the diner once! How could he forget those accents? And how flustered he'd been. His eyes trailed after them. They had been interesting… he wished that such interesting people would come in more often. He stuck his lip out in thought.

Well a movie didn't sound too bad…and he did bring his wallet. He nodded. It was settled. He pivoted, heading inside the inviting store that smelled strongly of must and plastic.

His paper was far out of his mind.

* * *

WWelllll that was chapter eight! What did you think ne? –dreading chapter nine- gyaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

Anyway…. I felt kinda bad for francis in this one :/ aw..BUT! BAD TOUCH TRIO APPEARANCE! WHOOT!

12


	9. Im Alfred, by the way

Hey guys~ Sorry this one is kinda short! But… it was a necessary evil!

Uhm…. Slight language and religious reference…? If that's offensive in any way…

* * *

Oh god. Oh god. No. That was Alfred…? Right?

Peter dragged him inside, pulling him down the aisles while blabbering off about something that didn't really quite reach his ears. He stared blankly forward, letting his weight carry him.

Alfred. Right outside. Today of all days. He swallowed heavily. Maybe he could just miss him. Yeah. It wasn't like he'd remember them or anything. They could pay for the movie and slip by… Wait! He wasn't going to buy a damn movie! He never agreed to this!

No, never mind that. It didn't matter now. It would be more of an argument to not buy it which would attract attention…which was bad.

Wait.

Arthur's brows knit together as he tried to make sense of his thoughts.

Isn't this what he wanted? Didn't he want Alfred…? That is what had been bothering him. But it didn't seem right. A bit too…awkward. But did that really matter at this point? He squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing his thumbs over his temples. Good lord he'd never been so flustered and confused in all his life. He took a deep breath. What was it that he really planned on doing? Was it a realistic notion just to walk up to someone and strike a conversation? He didn't really know much about Alfred, so he couldn't pick out something of his interest; nor could he say that they knew each other-because they didn't. So was it all that logical…?

Not particularly. It really didn't make much sense to just walk up to someone and say 'hello' did it? He would find it weird if someone began talking to him right out of the blue. He didn't want Alfred to think he was weird. Because he wasn't weird. He was just… confused. He sighed. Confused honestly didn't sound much better than weird.

He frowned.

Why was this so difficult?

"Artie?" Arthur realized they'd come to a stop. Or rather, he had come to a stop. Peter was looking up at him with a concerned face. He nodded. "Are you alright? You haven't said a word this whole time…"

"Oh. No I'm fine." Peter looked unsure. "You go along, I'll wait here." He murmured, the thoughts in his head were far too jumbled, and he couldn't make sense of them at all. It was if his head were about to explode. Peter nodded, still looking a bit weary, before heading off into another row of aisles.

Okay. Now that he was alone…

How was he going to do this? He wasn't going to do something stupid like literally bumping into him or something- how obvious was that? And he wasn't going to drop something either. It would be all too convenient if Alfred dropped something for him to see.

The bells on the door rang, making Arthur's head shoot up over the shelf like a frightened animal. Alfred walked inside, scanning the other half of the store with those baby blues. Arthur nearly choked, and ducked his head below the shelves before he could catch sight of him.

_Oh god. _

He was inside. Now. Right now.

Arthur gulped. There was Alfred. Less than thirty feet away. Oh no. He couldn't do this. He shook his head, shutting his eyes. No. He was a coward. A coward that was about to have a panic attack. There was no way on earth he was going to waltz up to that beautiful boy and say something as simple as 'hello' let alone ask him out.

Nope. He was baking out.

He scurried around the corner, careful not to look too frantic. He peered down each aisle carefully, looking around for Peter. Where had that child gone? The sooner they left the better.

"Artie?" Arthur jumped, springing around to face his younger brother. Dear lord he'd nearly had a heart attack just then! He took a deep breath, calming himself down.

"Oh, there you are." Peter's brows furrowed.

"Yea, I told you I'd be one aisle over… were you not listening?" Arthur looked at him, confused. Had he said that? When did he say that? Peter deadpanned. "Apparently not." He tilted his head to the side, with a frown. "Are you sure that you're alright? You aren't really acting normally…" He trailed off. No shit! Of course he wasn't acting normally! He glanced up to the front of the store, only to find that Alfred had gone missing. He stiffened. Oh god. The target had been lost. Arthur had now been thrown out into the unknown. Alfred could pop up at any second and scare the shit out of him – sending his heart into a lovesick frenzy as it tried to pump its way right out of his chest and into Alfred's hands. He didn't want that, now did he? Anxiously, he looked back down to Peter's inquiring eyes. "Arthur, are you sick?" Arthur? Since when did he call him Arthur? Wait, why was he complaining?

"Have you got the movie?" Peter looked taken aback at the fact that Arthur hadn't answered his question, but he suspiciously nodded. Arthur knew Peter was catching onto his awkward behavior. He couldn't exactly help it though. His nerves were tangling up in knots and knots, making him want to tear out his hair; which did not sound very pleasant in the slightest. Peter eventually nodded, holding up the small plastic box. Arthur smiled the best he could, taking Peter's shoulder in his hand and steering him toward the cashier. Peter winced at the vice grip. His brother was surprisingly strong – and it never ceased to amaze him. Of course, until this very moment, he'd never personally witnessed it. Only watched it unfold with Allistor and the others. Peter tried not to look like he was in too much pain, seeing as Arthur was clearly disturbed and just wanted to leave. Maybe he could convince the stubborn older brother of his to take off tomorrow... one day couldn't hurt. He seemed to be coming down with something.

Arthur rounded the corner of a particularly tall bookshelf and came to a complete halt.

Silence. Or at least, that's what it felt like for Arthur. He couldn't hear anything. Not a single word. If a bomb had gone off just then, Arthur would not have noticed. Peter had broken from his grip, and he was fairly certain that he'd said something to him, but he couldn't hear it. It sounded as if he was underwater, and all the noise was filtered out. There was an incredibly gorgeous roadblock from here to the cashier. And it was looking straight at him! His heart stopped. Or at least that's what it felt like when his emeralds met those dashing topaz orbs staring at him with the innocence of a small child.

He couldn't breathe. Was someone strangling him? No. No one was strangling him. He didn't think that anything else would leave him _this _breathless. It was Alfred's fault. His gaze was suffocating. His lungs started to throb.

Stricken, all Arthur could think to do was stare blankly forward, with huge, gaping eyes. He couldn't even afford a little blink. Nope. Those captivating blues drifted away from his face as an angelic smile graced his features – which was only too fitting. There was an intruder upon the silent moment between the two boys. As soon as Alfred's gaze drifted away, his lids fell with a snap.

He had been spot on. His heart exploded into an excited passion. The pounding in his chest was so painful he had to clutch at his jacket in failing attempts to fight it down. He dearly wished he could tell it to shut up – but that was impossible. Peter… Where was Peter?

Arthur's eyes fluttered open again, frantically looking anywhere but at his Angel. When the rest of the store produced zero results, his gaze turned to the spot where he knew that his little brother was, though every fiber in his being denied it. Why was Peter always doing this to him? Alfred was chatting up a storm with his younger brother, who looked quite pleased to have someone lessen the awkward atmosphere between him and his elder brother.

Peter would be his undoing.

Stiffly, he walked over to his younger brother

"I really wanna come back!" He exclaimed. Alfred laughed, making Arthur's knees wiggle with weakness. He had never once wanted to whine about anything…until that very moment. He just wanted to let it all out and whine to the almighty power about how he was so cruel for doing this to one of his helpless subjects. What had he done to deserve this? Maybe he should change religions!

Alfred patted Peter's head affectionately.

"Well then maybe you should convince that brother of yours to get up and take you!" Alfred replied chipperly, glancing up at the Briton as he approached. He shot him that winning smile, sending a wave of dizziness to crowd Arthur's senses.

Dear lord. He'd wanted this so badly only an hour ago. How much of a pussy was he if a smile damn near made him faint? He couldn't recall when he'd become such a little girl.

"Hey man~" Alfred sang. Arthur's throat was tight, and he could barely force any saliva down, let alone any speech coming up. He took a deep breath anyway, loosening his tense muscles only slightly.

"Hello." He managed.

"Well your little brother wants to come back and eat some more! You guys should come by!" Arthur smiled- genuinely this time. It wasn't a date by any means, but it was better than being forgotten. He – perhaps Peter, well probably Peter – had made a mark in Alfred's mind. That was a good start. It was really, at that moment, when Arthur started to wonder. Really. What convenient timing this was. Honestly, this didn't _actually _happen to people. Why shouldn't he take advantage of it? Would it kill him to be a bit selfish and indulgent every now and then? He was beginning to think it wasn't so terrible. So really, the question was… was he going to try and get in touch with Alfred today, or wasn't he? If only it were seriously that simple, the brit would choose in a heartbeat. There were other things to consider, of course, like Alfred's preferences and orientations. But… should he chance it?

"Maybe we will." He replied softly, hearing Peter whoop in joy. He was just relived that his voice was smooth and stutter free, though his knees were weak. He suddenly doubted his ability to walk. He didn't know if it was from the prospect of being able to see Alfred, or whether it was from the face that the object of his unusually perturbing dreams was seriously standing two feet away talking to him as if they'd been childhood friends. He really couldn't tell.

It couldn't be all that bad to go back… maybe. Plus he'd get to see Alfred… which he had devoutly been avoiding, which was honestly making his body exhausted. He was finally caving. He was just giving in.

Arthur was just going to switch religions. Yup. He was suddenly a strong believer in fate because there was no other way that this entire situation was making any sense without that huge role intervening. It had to be Lady Fate. That was the only explanation…who cares if it was logical? He was so far past that now. He was starting to think that logic was just some excuse that people made up to sound right. So, now with a new higher power on his shoulder, Arthur began to mull over what exactly that damn bitch wanted with him. Why was _she_ torturing him so? Hello, he'd been a good little boy his whole life, why torture him now? Was she some sort of weird, gay- loving psyco?

So was he going to attempt to be with Alfred today?

He shivered at that thought.

_Be_ with Alfred.

"That'd be great. You know, it gets terribly boring at the diner. 'specially at breakfast." Alfred's face twisted into a pout, was honestly reaching the level of cute that was faint worthy. Arthur blinked, catching the 'aww' in the back of his throat, simultaneously making sure he didn't keel over right there. He snuffed it out, letting it shrivel up and die. He still had a firm hold on his coat, making sure that his heart muscle stayed securely _inside _his ribcage.

"NEXT!" The old lady at the cashier screamed. Arthur flinched. Good lord, why did she have to scream? Arthur dug around for his wallet, shoving a few bills at Peter, who snatched them and ran up to the counter excitedly.

"I think we pissed her off." Alfred whispered in Arthur's ear behind a hand. He shuddered. Arthur didn't know whether to snicker or to blush from his closeness. A small smile broke onto his face, followed quickly by a very light blush.

"O-oh… you think?" He whispered back. Alfred laughed, spinning his own DVD between his fingers.

"Ha! Oh!" Alfred seemed to suddenly remember something, and shoved a hand Arthur's way. He tried his best not to recoil as if it were the plague, jumping at the sudden movement. Was it okay to touch something heavenly? Pffft—Alfred wasn't holy…right? "I'm Alfred, by the way!" Arthur blinked. Alfred had done it. He had done it for him. They officially knew each other now. Well… he'd known his name for a while now, but that hardly mattered. Despite himself, Arthur wanted to jump for joy right there. Though, he did not and probably never would, do something so ridiculous.

Arthur took the boy's hand, shaking it.

"Arthur." He replied softly. He wasn't usually so soft spoken, but the muscles in his throat still refused to let him speak. He was lightheaded. When had he started holding his breath? He should notice these things…

"Nice to meetcha!" Arthur felt a huge weight lift from is chest, allowing him to breathe much more freely than he ever could've imagined. He smiled once more- something that was slightly odd for him. It was nice to meet him?

"Likewise."

Was it worth chancing?

Most definitely.

* * *

Whoo~ Short chapter is short. Sorry dudes. It bugged me a little to end it right there, but it was again, necessary. And NO this does NOT mean they are dating yet! Chill dudes, were almost there! Just a few more terribly embarrassing moments and all will be well xD

6


	10. Invitation and Desperation

Wow, it has seriously been a long time. I am sincerely sorry about this! I just kept putting this off and putting this off and putting this off! I had planned for this chapter to be a lot longer, but I needed it to end there instead of later… so…

* * *

Yea and all of you who wanted the faster plot, well here it is! Things are finally moving along and I am hoping this is to your liking xD. Again I am sorry for the long wait and overall sucky-ness of this chapter!

Arthur took a deep breath. He had gotten up extra early today. It was once again, Saturday. The check from his father had come in the mail, so he and Peter had a bit of extra cash. Arthur was currently drying his hair madly with a towel, simmering in utter turmoil at what he was going to wear.

He was going to the diner today. For lunch this time. His dilemma had arisen when Peter had made a comment about his lack of spiffy attire as of late. He hadn't really noticed the shift from spiffy to comfortable over the past week or two…and it had actually bothered him. So now he was at a complete loss as of what to wear to his lunch… it wasn't a date… appointment? Event…? Whatever it was… He needed to look presentable. There was no way he would have a chance if he wasn't presentable. That's what he'd been taught growing up anyway.

Not that he'd been geared toward attracting men when he was growing up.

Peter was waiting on the couch by now, he knew that much. They still had time though, loads of time. But loads of time was not to be taken lightly. No. He had to get ready fast so they could arrive at a good time…

…Which brought him back to the frustrating dilemma of what to wear. He shook his head, wrapping his towel back around his waist. Honestly, he felt like such a little girl trying to pick out clothes on school picture day. He'd never ever been accused of underdress…but as of late his tastes had been a bit warped. Just what was he going to do?

He was going to take up the American attitude and grab something at random. Yes, when in Rome.

He grabbed a pair of boxer-briefs and a white button up, seeing as a white button up was usually the basis for his attire. He buttoned it up as far as it would go, and pulled out pressed black trousers. He'd ironed them a few weeks ago, and since he'd not touched them, and kept them hanging, they were as straight as a board still. So he pulled them on. And, being his best friend since middle school, he grabbed a sweater vest and pulled it on over the shirt. He glanced once more at himself, deciding that he was as presentable as he was ever going to be, and strode out of his room with his towel and wallet in tow.

Peter sat on the couch, looking as bored as ever. He had his DS in hand, but didn't seem to be paying any mind to it. Arthur did likewise, going to the kitchen to grab the keys. He pulled on his scarf while he was at it, and his hat.

"Alright Peter, come on then." He glanced at the younger boy, whose face instantly brightened at the prospect of food. Arthur briefly wondered if one day that would bite him in the arse. The thought couldn't stay for long, however, because his frayed nerves that had been destroyed by Alfred's meeting the other day were growing tighter at an unyielding pace. His fluttering chest not only drove him crazy, but made it increasingly hard to focus on any one thought – unless it pertained to Alfred, naturally.

"Awesome!" Peter exclaimed, jumping off the couch with his hat's ears bobbing up and down as he ran. "This is going to be freaking delicious!" Peter exclaimed. He pulled on his coat nearly more eager than Arthur tried to convince himself he was. He was happy to have an excuse to see Alfred; that wasn't really what the whole dilemma was about. He didn't know what precisely it was that was bothering him so much about getting Alfred's attention. He'd been on dates before. He wasn't exactly new to the dating world – not that he was a slut or anything, but he was no virgin. This sort of thing should've been something that he should take level-headedly. But for some reason he just couldn't. Alfred was just too much for his little body to handle.

He wanted a nice, good fuck so badly that he could hardly stand it.

Something like that coming from his mind was a rarity. And usually when these things tended to happen, he was not, by any means, particular to any one person doing the deed. That was just what he was feeling at the time. He usually never acted on it, and it would pass with a nice shower and a good nap.

This time it was clearly not the case. Arthur wanted Alfred and Alfred only. There was just no one else that he would, or could, accept. It had to be Alfred. And no nap was going to get the picture of that bright, angelic face from his mind. Actually the naps seemed to make it worse, seeing as during that last one Alfred had shown him just how much of an angel he _wasn't._

So it was with a throbbing heart that Arthur set out to the forbidden diner, Peter full on leading the way. He honestly was baffled at how excited the other boy was about mere food when going to this place might just send his elder brother into a spiraling pit of erotic euphoria that was completely falsely based and would eventually send him into a state of wonton dazed-ness.

That didn't really seem very pleasant. And Peter was excited about it. The fucker.

No… he shouldn't blame his little brother for such things. That was probably so far over his head that it was in outer space… or so he hoped. But still. He was happy about something that might just give him a heart attack. He might keel over from a lewd combination of loneliness and sexual frustration. He frowned. He was being selfish now.

This was just not his day. Actually, it hadn't been his day for quite some time- weeks even. How many had it been since this Alfred nonsense had started? One week? Two? Two sounded right. Since Christmas was right around the corner… He didn't have school any more now. Peter and everyone who wasn't in college was out on Tuesday, just one day less than a week from now. School had been cancelled anyway because of the ice and snow. On top of that Peter had that little girl's party to go to the Thursday of Christmas break. He was honestly too stressed to keep thinking of such things…

They arrived at the diner finally. Peter eagerly took his seat, seeing as the diner was once again empty. No one wanted to get out with the heavy weather.

"Hello!" The same girl as before was waiting the counter. "How are you today?" She asked brightly. Arthur frowned. Her cheery ness seemed so fake, but something in her eyes told him otherwise. He took his seat next to Peter, letting Peter do all the talking. He was usually anal about being polite to everyone, but…

As previously mentioned, today just wasn't his day. He was fed up with dealing with everyone. It was time to deal with himself for once.

The time it took for Peter to decide what he was going to eat was antagonizingly long. Arthur decided upon a simple burger for the sake of something quick to cook. He hadn't seen head nor tail of the boy since he'd stepped inside, not that he was particularly complaining…

Okay yes he was disappointed. But it didn't matter because it's not like he wasn't there. Arthur was just impatient. Yes. He inwardly scolded himself, wondering why exactly he was so frustrated. It just seemed like no matter what it was, he was just annoyed at everything lately.

He did not enjoy having a crush on someone. Not at all.

Once the girl put in their orders, she leaned forward, calling Alfred to the window.

"What?" A familiar voice called, though, Arthur shouldn't be able to call it 'familiar' for the amount of time they'd known each other. "You mean we actually got customers?" He popped his head into the window, and Arthur nearly grinned at the cute little bounce from his cowlick. He restrained himself though(barely) and offered that bright grin a small smile. "Well heeeeeeeey~" He all but sang, making more than just Arthur's heart flutter.

"Hello!" Peter called, bouncing in his seat a little as he waved to Alfred. "Top of the morning!" Arthur rolled his eyes at Peter's antics. Never had he ever said 'top of the morning.' Alfred seemed to find it funny though, snickering to himself a little.

"Yo, little dude." Alfred said, coming out from the kitchen to greet them both. "Glad you guys decided to show up, I was staring to die of boredom back there!" He exclaimed, motioning with his hands in an over animate way. Arthur ran a nervous hand through his hair, trying to gather himself enough to formulate a coherent and logical response to that statement. Peter beat him too it, however.

"Really? Cause I was about to die of starvation waiting for Arthur to get out of bed today!" He replied snarkily, sending Arthur a haughty glance. Of course he was just playing, but that snarky tone rubbed him the wrong way, making him send back a sharp glare. He crossed his arms.

"I wanted to sleep in since I'm out of school now. It's your problem."

"Whaaaaaaaaat?" Alfred whined, leaning his elbows on the counter just in front of Arthur. He rocked forward, his glasses falling a bit low on his nose. "You're out of school already? That's no fair!" Arthur blinked at his close proximity, but smirked in spite of his fluttering heartbeat and coiling nerves.

"All the college students are out already." He replied, shrugging off his jacket. Arthur did his best to ignore the adorable boy in front of him shooting him a nice, bright grin that put pretty much any object he could think of to immediate shame. Instead he pushed his jacket behind him over the chair for quick access. They really liked the heater in this place… the electric bill must be ghastly. Alfred slapped the palms on his hands down on the wooden bar in shock, leaning all the way back on his heels.

"What? You're in college?! I never would've guessed!" Arthur frowned, feeling a slight twinge of pink coloring his cheeks. He started to retort, but found himself stuck with a stammer.

"W-w-what's that supposed to m-mean?!" Alfred smiled.

"Dude, you don't look older than me at all! I thought you were a junior or somethin'!" Arthur didn't know whether to feel complimented or offended. He took a deep breath, as Peter burst into manic laughter beside him.

"Artie's a shorty!" He giggled, poking Arthur in the side. Arthur flinched, his heart doing backflips in his chest. He wondered when in the hell it learned to do that, and why in the hell it wanted to make him so sick all the time. He decided not to dwell on it. His brain didn't have the capacity to keep himself from blushing, fainting, and staring at Alfred to deal with Peter piled on top. He blew out a quick breath, swatting his hand away.

"You probably will be too, twit." He grumbled, much to Alfred's amusement. At that comment, Peter sent him a pout.

"That wasn't very nice Artie." He whined. Arthur sent him a reprimanding glare, to remind him just how much that he couldn't stand whining. Peter nearly stuck his tongue out, but refrained. He could tell Arthur wasn't in the mood.

"Well it's true, Peter." He replied, moving his gaze back to Alfred, who's expression wasn't anything short of entertained. "I'll have to apologize, we have the tendency to bicker…" He started, but was cut off by an overzealous Alfred.

"'Naw man, it's cool! I've got an older brother Mattie. I know exactly what you mean!" He grinned. "Alright, I'm 'a go cook your food now, since I assume you came here to actually eat something." He chuckled, sticking his hands on his hips. His laughter soon picked up loudly, as Peter joined in on it. His chest heaved as he sucked in a huge breath, and letting it out with a huge, booming laugh. It was so loud that it nearly drowned out Peter's loud laugh, and Peter was right next to him. He could only blink, even this loud, obnoxious, echoing laugh couldn't sound more like music-better than the shite he heard on all the radios.

Arthur stared at him in shock. That boy had some pipes on him, that was for sure.

Alfred retreated to the kitchen, grinning happily to himself. Since they'd sat down across from the window once again, Arthur watched Alfred scrutinize the small paper hanging with their orders on it. He pushed up his glasses, squinting at the tiny piece of paper closely with a small bit of his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth.

Arthur watched calculatingly. Not only did he take in what exactly Alfred's mannerisms were, but he took in everything else: his easy grace, one of a skilled athlete he would guess. And the way he scrunched up his face like that had Arthur's heart in overdrive, thumping away on his chest like it was a caged animal. It was just _so damn cute. _The skin on his nose scrunched up tightly, but not too much, giving just the right amount of adorable, which was only accented by the perhaps only serious expression the boy owned. And how could you miss that cute little persistent piece of hair sticking out from the top of his head? You couldn't, it was impossible.

But then again, he had other things going for him besides that charmingly cute face. Like those strong arms, or the way that his jeans clung to his thighs in just the right way- not that he could see that with the wall blocking the view.

And what a nice view it was.

Alfred moved from the window to go get the ingredients, giving Arthur's eyes and mind a brief rest. Being here only made his body ache more, but quite honestly, he was enjoying it. Not the aching part, of course, but the seeing Alfred part.

Two days ago he would've denied that Alfred would ever know his first name. But now, here they were, chatting it up about how he didn't look his age.

It was a baffling change of events, but apparently it was just 'meant to be' or something. At least… he hoped so. Actually, he was beginning to think so. What really were the chances of them bumping into each other like they did? How many people were in this city? Thousands he knew… And of all those people, he just happened to waltz into that particular Starbucks that morning, and hold the door open like a fobbish twit so Arthur would look up at him. And he just so happened to work at this diner that Peter so happened to hear about at school, _and he just so happened to be going to the same video rental store at the same date and time that Peter had dragged him there, nearly giving him a heart attack. _What was this, some sort of fairy tale epic that Shakespeare would've written about? What, were he and Alfred some sort of estranged star-crossed lovers or something? Not that he'd mind, but in all honestly it seemed a bit too… convenient. Convenient and so far out there. Things like that didn't just happen.

And yet… it had. It had happened. He certainly hadn't planned it, and he was fairly certain Alfred wouldn't have either, and he certainly couldn't deny it.

Arthur had never considered himself a lucky person, but maybe it was taking a turn for the better.

Kat had already set down their drinks, and proceeded to sit on the end of the bar, kicking her legs back and forth childishly. Arthur didn't pay her too much attention though, seeing as Alfred regained his place in the window, sucking his eyes to him with a possessive gravity. Arthur could hear the clicking of a grill's gas, and some sort of bubbling sound from the kitchen.

"So, Arthur," His gaze snapped to Alfred's upon hearing his name, accompanied by a slight blush. "What year of college are you in?"

"I'm in my second year." He replied, taking a drink of the ice water. Alfred nodded to show he'd heard, moving something onto the grill. The only reason Arthur could tell was the responding sizzle. Alfred took some sort of bottle, sprinkling it over whatever was on the grill.

"Wow, man. That's still shocking me," He said with a crooked smirk. Arthur caught his breath, seeing those fleshy, chapped lips curl. He blinked, swallowing down the throbbing need to kiss them. Arthur let out a forced laugh from the effort. Alfred smiled, looking down at the grill. He blew a piece of his hair from his face, only to have it fall exactly where it'd been before. Arthur rested his cheek against his hand as Alfred's look soured. "Man… I just remembered…" He muttered. "I still gotta write that paper." Arthur's ears perked up at that.

"Paper?" He asked. He wasn't really all that curious, but it was an excuse to keep the guy talking- which was nothing less than what Arthur imagined the word 'heavenly music' would sound like. Alfred nodded, looking down at the food he was cooking rather than at Arthur; which was fine with him because he was probably pink and flushed from how flustered he was getting from watching those lips.

"Yeah, some paper for English class. Mattie said that we'd been assigned it like two weeks ago…but I don't remember that." He admitted, smiling at his own foolishness. Arthur nearly deadpanned.

Great, he was head over heels for a slacker. A damn _slacker. _Just great…

Well, he had redeeming qualities. So that had to count for something.

"What's it about?" He inquired, brushing a stray strand of hair from his eyes. He needed to get that cut. Alfred poked his bottom lip out in thought, looking up at the ceiling to think. Arthur watched with a small smile, raising his brow with an amused look. He didn't even know. If it were Arthur, he would be constantly worrying, and wouldn't be able to get anything accomplished until he finished the paper.

Apparently not Alfred. He seemed to be rather laid back about it.

"Uhhhmmm… Shakespeare I know… Uhmm… what was it? Hamlet!" He said with a snap of the fingers. "Yeah. That's what it was!" He grinned, but it fell instantly at the fact that he still had that paper to write. Arthur smirked.

"You didn't read it did you?" Alfred shook his head solemnly. Arthur couldn't help the small snicker. Of course he hadn't read it. How predictable. Furthermore… how irresponsible. But at the same time…

How cute.

"I dunno how I'm gonna get a copy and read it by Tuesday. " He mumbled, flipping what Arthur assumed to be his burger with the titanium spatula he'd grabbed only a few seconds ago. He didn't know what compelled him to say it, but sure enough, the sentence flew out of his mouth in an offering.

"I have a copy." He instantly shut his mouth, feeling that irritating heartbeat pick up in his chest faster than a freaking race car. Why had he just said that? He _never _let people borrow his books! Ever! Let alone some stranger he barely knew besides the terrible crush he'd been harboring on him for the past two weeks…

Oh. Right. That's why he'd said that so thoughtlessly.

Alfred's eyes were drawn away from the grill, and lit up excitedly. He glimmering emeralds met warming forget-me-not's and he was struck dumb. There wasn't a thing he could do but sit there and stare forward stupidly into those pristine azure pools.

"Would you really let me borrow it?" He asked eagerly. Arthur watched those eyes carefully, making sure that he kept his mouth in a firm line – no reaction to Alfred at all. Stiffly, he nodded.

"Yeah, it's no big deal." He even sounded forced to himself, and Peter was eyeing him like he'd grown three heads. Alfred fist pumped, letting out something mixed between a 'yes!' and a shout.

"Awesome! Dude! That's totally epic!" Arthur blinked, looking back at the blonde. He did know that Hamlet was long, right? He shrugged, intending to ask.

"Alfred… You do know that Hamlet is a rather large book, don't you?" Alfred stopped, and visibly deflated, like someone had physically knocked the air out of him.

"How long…?" He asked with impending dread. Arthur shrugged, his mind still trying to recover its senses.

"Enough." Alfred instantly frowned deeply, and it was certainly an unfavorable look on those usually upbeat features. He flipped the burger over, and stepped back as a harsh cloud of steam arose from the protesting griddle.

"Awesome." He pouted, and Arthur's heart nearly throbbed. He licked his lips, his mind's gears turning and clicking in complete frustration and turmoil. He wasn't sure if he should offer such a thing as to what was coming to his mind, but the solemn look on his angel's face was truly tragic. He really wasn't comfortable with offering himself up like this, because every time he attempted to connect with people, it went sorely wrong. Despite all those past experiences, he couldn't really deny the fact that not only was his heart and body telling him he wanted to, but his mind was as well. If he really truly wanted it then there was no use in fighting it, and really, what did he have to lose? So, with a dejected spirit and a rabid, traitorous mind, he made possibly one of the most monumental offers he had ever made in his entire life.

"I've read it before; would you like me to help you?" The sudden emptiness in his chest made his eyes open wide. He felt as if the ground beneath his feet had just been yanked away and he was hovering in that brief moment before gravity took over and sent him plummeting mercilessly into the endless black chasm below. If Peter hadn't been shocked before now, there was no doubt he was colossally disturbed by his elder's actions. Alfred, not knowing just how unusual that offer was, instantly smiled, as he squinted without his glasses. He wiped off the steam on his apron, grinning like an idiot.

"You really mean it?!" Alfred asked, excited like it was his fifth birthday. Arthur gulped, wondering if sticking his neck out for that kid was really going to pay off in the end; but he nodded despite his doubts – never voicing them aloud. "Wow dude! You're awesome! How about you come by my place after I get off work?" Arthur blinked. He was already inviting him to the house? He opened his mouth to reply, but he found that no words came out. Peter, seeming to sense a small fraction of the mood nudged him with his small foot, and Arthur's stalling mind was started clicking into place once more.

"Uh… sure, what time do you get off?" Alfred was busy with the food as he stopped to think. He replaced his un-fogged glasses, and transferred the perfectly cooked burger on the bun. He hurried to something sizzling in the background, and returned back with a plate of sorts.

"Well, today I get off at two," He started, but failed to continue as he heaped the food onto the plate he had brought over. Arthur nodded absent mindedly, his brain still trying to process what exactly he was doing here, and now. He wanted to see Alfred, but part of his brain was telling him that it was useless to try because there would undoubtedly be something about his personality that would cause it to go terribly wrong. It always started that way it seemed. People thought that he was friendly, and polite. They tried to butt into his life and intrude – sometimes he even welcomed them in, but as soon as they entered farther into his life, as soon as they passed the nodding in the hallway stage, they instantly shut down and withdrew – disgusted or put off by the tender feelings and short-comings that he always kept buried beneath. In truth Arthur Kirkland wasn't a very kind person… in truth he was pretty much a tight-ass. And so, trying to make friends only really resulted in pain – painful rejection… painful ridicule. He attempted to keep everyone at bay, at a perfectly safe distance, but for some reason, Alfred was able to knock away his logic and drop his barriers. He didn't know whether to be mortified or pleasantly surprised. "And I can meet you here at the diner after I lock up." He finished finally, setting the plate on the window's considered it, and, giving into his own, selfish desires, he nodded in agreement to the plans.

"Alright," He said, though his voice was so soft from the fear(or was it anticipation?) wracking his body that he would have been surprised Alfred had heard him. "That sounds fine, Peter and I will come by around two thirty then." Alfred smiled to himself, secretly pleased that the Brit had agreed so easily. He was happy that he was going to finish his paper, but there was something about the prospect of getting the adorable little Briton to his house that was getting him ridiculously ecstatic.

They were both looking forward to two thirty.

11


	11. Alfred's House

Oh friends. I am sososososoooooooooo sorry. It has been such a long time, my heart aches for the lost opportunities to write. I am sincerely regretful about such tragedy. Well anyway, moving on with my life, here is the next chapter, and I am sorry for the briefness.

* * *

"But Arthur, why do I have to go?" Peter whined, tugging on his elder's arm like it was going to change his mind. Arthur jerked his arm away, grunting gruffly as the searing cold stung his skin.

"Because I am not leaving you at the apartment by yourself." He argued, letting his lips droop into that characteristic frown. The truth was, he wasn't too thrilled about Peter coming along either, but he figured it would be bad to leave him at the apartment, and furthermore, it might just add to the emotional normality to have him there. I.E Arthur was nervous and Peter's presence might just keep him sane enough to talk coherently and keep him from doing anything he might regret later.

"I can take care of myself." He insisted, stamping his foot to exaggerate his point. Arthur shook his head. Dammit, Peter was coming and that was final.

"No Peter." The heaviness of his voice was enough to convey the finality of those two words, making Peter scowl in distaste. He groaned, crossing his arms across his chest in angsty defeat.

"I don't even get why you're going," Peter grumbled. Usually his anger would've irritated Arthur, or at the very least made him feel guilty because it rarely happened, but that naive statement only made his shoulders drop in relief. He was supremely glad at just how dense his brother was, because if it were him, he'd have figured out the secrecy long before now, and that would be most upsetting. Arthur refrained from answering as the clouds overhead began to droop with a surplus of nasty weather. With a petulant scoff he buried his nose deeper into the tweed-looking scarf nuzzling his neck. What was he thinking, offering himself up like that? He may as well put his head on the guillotine and cut the rope himself – not that anyone would miss him. Maybe Peter would, and Francis would miss the punching bag Arthur's ears provided. But otherwise it wouldn't be a big deal. Maybe?

He lowered his gaze to the slushy mesh they were trudging through. Well, at least it would be a white Christmas. He knew tons of people whose bucket list had 'celebrate a white Christmas,' on it. He found it a little ridiculous, but now that it was happening, he could start to grasp why they would strive for it so bad. It sort of completed the mood: peaceful serenity blanketing the landscape – forcing one to stay inside and keep warm with the family…or loved one. Arthur shivered at that thought. What he wouldn't give to have that boy to keep him warm on Christmas.

The thought perturbed him, and he felt his eye twitch in irritation at his useless antics. Really, when had his ways become so thirsty? Was he left to never be satisfied, to always be wanting more and more and more? He couldn't remember when he had first started craving attention – not just the physical sort either. Sure, the physical attention was a large chunk of his hankerings, he wanted the other part too- the care, and emotional support. He sorely needed that attention, deeply missed it. He was quite unsure if he'd ever even experienced such a thing in the first place. His parents and brothers certainly hadn't done him any favors, and all his relationships, except for a select few, had met a short drop and a sudden stop sort of ending – leaving Arthur wanting to pull his hair out from the mere irritation. In fact, as he adjusted the thick, weathered book beneath his copious jacket, he wasn't sure that any of his relationships, romantic or otherwise, had ever been successful.

Arthur was a lone soul from birth, condemned to wander in bittersweet quarantine for the rest of his miserable, slightly masochistic life. And what exactly would he have to show for it at the end of it all? A little brother who'd have most likely forgotten all about him by then and a stack of old battered books. Honestly, the brittle pages in his novels would tell more about him than he had ever let slip from his dry lips. In retrospect, Arthur Kirkland was very much like a book: a big, thick, intricate book whose author had been stupid enough to use invisible ink. His story had faded uselessly against the paper, saturating its fibers rather than the reader's eyes. He was damned to invisibility- the perfect wallflower.

With deteriorating spirits, Arthur turned the last corner, seeing the revolting blue color of Chelle's Diner contaminate his view. He checked his watch, seeing that it was two twenty-five. Alfred got off work at two thirty. Arthur loved to be punctual traditionally, but lately punctuality gave him extra time to think, and thinking always seemed to lead to depressing outcomes. Still, it was only five minutes, and the blonde trudged forward, hoping that this little study session would not end in total chaos.

Peter dragged his feet in the heavy, slushy snow with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Arthur figured that it was partly from the cold, but mostly from his anger. He was far beyond caring at this point, and just let the child sulk in his pity party. In comparison to Arthur's upbringing, Peter had it exceptionally well, so there was room to be a teensy bit cruel to his feelings every now and again. Arthur felt a bit bad, but not enough that he was going to do a thing about the problem. They both approached the diner, and Arthur stopped in front of the glass door. The busty waitress seemed to already have left, and at first glance the diner appeared completely deserted. Arthur knew better though, because somewhere in the bowels of that dangerous shop, the boy of his dreams –quite literally- bustled about inside. Arthur turned his back, leaning up against the glass window. Peter immediately let out a sharp whine that nearly made Arthur's ears bleed.

"What, why can't we go inside?" He cried, dragging out every vowel he possibly could. Arthur frowned. If he had one singular pet peeve that pissed him off more than all the others it was whining. Despite that, Arthur answered him with closed eyes and a reserved tone anyway, seeing as there was going to be no changing his mood.

"Because he's trying to close the shop, not entertain guests and keep them warm." He replied crossing his arms over his chest with the book sandwiched in between. Peter huffed, and Arthur briefly wondered when he'd let the boy become such a brat. He'd have to wean him off of that attitude quick, or he might just kick him outside for a night in the cold. That didn't sound very loving, or even humane in the least, but Arthur was finding that he didn't really care just then.

The next five minutes were of Arthur and Peter leaning against the glass wall in angry silence – Peter for much more different reasons than Arthur. No conversation sparked from the two, seeing as the motor mouthed boy was in a foul mood. So, until Alfred's presence scared away the swamping rain-cloud encircling their side of the empty street they both brooded together in total silence.

"OHAI!" Arthur jumped, nearly letting the book slip from his frozen fingers. Arthur struggled to regain himself. Why he found it particularly difficult to talk to Alfred was something that eluded his mind, and yet dominated it all at the same time, making it increasingly difficult to process a feasible sentence in reply.

"H-hello!" He sounded quipped, and hurried, but it was better than nothing. Arthur was by no means satisfied with the reply, but Alfred seemed not to dwell on it as he jumped to the next topic.

"I was wondering if you'd show up!" He said with a divine chuckle. "Maybe I'll actually make a good grade on this paper since I'll have help from a college kid." He mused as the look in his cerulean eyes took him far off.

"Indeed…" Arthur murmured, finding it the only phrase that never left him, and had yet to fail him. Alfred's ultimatum was indifference as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Eh, whatever! My house is this way!" He announced, pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his cute nose. He was all bundled up, like the first day Arthur had seen him. He could even see the grunge American flag hoodie peeking out from under the heavy winter coat. A blue scarf hung loosely around his flawless neck, and Arthur couldn't help the audible shiver that passed over him just then. He cast his gaze to the slushy ground to distract himself. A whole lot of good that did though, because down near the ground were Alfred's sculpted young legs tight with cold – only encompassed by a thin layer of denim, which didn't seem to be doing much good against the chill with his muscles flexed. Didn't he know that the cold is easier to handle relaxed? Not that he was much of one to talk. He was so tense right now he was sure his arm muscles were about to go into a spasm. Maybe staring at that cute bum would appease his woes.

Peter was stomping along behind them both, being such a bother, but Arthur really didn't care at this point. Peter could be a little twat as much as he wanted the git.

Arthur let out a quiet sigh too low for anyone but himself to hear. This was going to be a long afternoon...though he couldn't quash the small flicker of excitement budding in his chest.

He was going to Alfred's house.

* * *

"Here it is!" Alfred exclaimed in a singsong-y voice. It was actually a house, much to Arthur's surprise. He'd figured that it would've been an apartment since Alfred had mentioned it was just him and his brother living together, but somehow the two must've scraped up enough money to pay the rent. The outside was just as one would expect looking at Alfred. There was an American flag blowing above the doorstep with a bit of frost collected on the edges and a red white and blue doormat to finish it off. A marine flag, he noticed, hung not too far off the wall a few feet down, and he wondered briefly who had been in the marines. Alfred was far too young, and Alfred had said he and his brother were close in age.

Alfred Shoved the door inward kicking his shoes off in the entryway. Arthur and Peter followed, doing the same. Inside was decorated similarly as the outside, with creamy carpet and simple furnishings. Peters olfactory sensors were up and running before Arthur's, because as soon as he stepped through the door, he sniffed the air like a dog, once, twice, and three long snorts of the syrupy, flour-y, unmistakable smell of pancakes wafting pleasantly through the air. A grin instantly spread across the kid's face-which only made Arthur roll his eyes. His brother was so predictable.

"Are those pancakes I smell?!" he exclaimed. Alfred shot him that trademark smile- one that Arthur attempted to ignore by taking in the neat picture frames collecting dust on the wall. There was a couple standing pleasantly inside; one that Arthur assumed to be their parents. The woman had dazzling blue eyes-just like Alfred and golden hair falling down past her shoulder blades. Arthur took a step closer, seeing the short haired, slightly darker headed man she was happily clinging to. He was dressed in the marine uniform, and giving one glance from him to Alfred, one could easily see the bodily similarities. Though his eyes were separate from Alfred's, and his face sharper-more hollowed, there were wrinkles round his eyes and mouth that could only have been caused by excess smiling.

"It sure is kid," Alfred smiled, patting him on the back. "My brother Mattie's in there cookin' 'em!" peters eyes widened in revelry.

"He must be a god of cooking too if he's related to you!" Arthur rolled his eyes, even with his back to them-he was wondering if that same look he usually gave Arthur when he did something cool was complacent in those big eyes- the one that made you think he was going to drop to his knees and grovel at your feet with a bottle of expensive perfume ready. He figured it was by the sound of Alfred's jovial laughter circling though the room.

"Nah, pancakes are about all he can do, but if you run in there now he might make you some with chocolate-chips. "Arthur could hear peter gasp as if he'd never had pancakes with chocolate chips before and darted off into the house-probably following the scent of those pancakes. Arthur felt half the need to reprimand him about how running through someone's house-even when invited-was rude as was imposing for food, but he couldn't find the energy and left it lone. He continued to examine the pictures, listening to Alfred's quiet chuckle. "OH! And don't take the bacon, it isn't real!" he shouted after Peter, making Arthur turn and look. Alfred had that boisterous look that Arthur was bound and determined to get to know. He thought briefly about asking what he meant by 'it isn't real' but decided it wouldn't kill him to not know. "Come on, my room's this way." Alfred marched off into his house with a leisurely grace- his shoulders relaxed, hands stuffed in the American hoodie pocket, and back slightly hunched. Arthur followed, clutching the book closely to his chest. They were going to his room? What was wrong with the living room? He swallowed heavily, feeling the lump travel sluggishly down his tense throat and through his tight chest.

He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to be in there alone. Where was Peter?

* * *

Please check out my DA: . My friend needs help to pay her rent, and I'd love it if you'd commission me to help her out!

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